


Genesis

by writerposer



Series: Genesis [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, M/M, No Underage Sex, Slow Burn, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerposer/pseuds/writerposer
Summary: When Castiel stumbles into the Winchester's survivor camp, one of the few safe havens left after the Croatoan virus ravaged the earth, he had thought he lost everything. What he found there, who he found, would change his life, and maybe the world.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Claire Novak, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: Genesis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891459
Comments: 41
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

When the battered boy stumbled into camp, no one knew what to do with him. 

Dean felt his eyebrows knit further together as Chuck continued wring his dirty hands over the wizened oak table, cracking each knuckle, a nervous habit he had picked up around the start of the Apocalypse, and had only grown worse as time ticked on. 

“I can hear you thinking from over here. Tell me what you’re thinking, or get out,” Dean grumbled, startling his advisor. 

“I, uh, well, I just don’t know. Sure there have been rescue missions, but never has someone actually managed to walk into camp uninfected. This has just never happened before,” Chuck rambled on, his hands flying ecstatically. 

“Well, the apocalypse never happened before either, and you’re one of the idiots I've entrusted to actually advise me through the unprecedented,” Dean bit out, his tolerance for the former prophet severely diminished by the lack of alcohol in his system. 

“Well, uh, we could wait for the others to come back,” Chuck managed to stutter out, before Dean lost his patience, and dismissed him with a single gesture. 

Chuck got up, and scurried away, silently shutting the wood cabin door behind him. Dean sighed, rubbing his calloused hands over his face, noting in the back of his mind that he needed a shave. His eyes darted over to the window that allowed a partially-obscured view of the cabin, the ‘hot box’, which housed the newest mystery to pop out of Croat-Ville. 

After the founding of their little haven two years ago, not once, not even on the fruitless rescue missions they launched during the first month of the last wave of infection, had Dean ever found someone untouched by the Croatoan virus outside of the safe camp walls. All the men they lost in that first month, just trying to rescue their loved ones back. They all soon learned to forget the ones they left behind. 

One word, ‘Croatoan’, heralded what was now commonly thought to be the end of days. Croats, fast, strong, and bloodthirsty zombies now shambled across the Earth, picking off humans with ease. 

Humanity was fighting a losing battle, because every lost man became another Croat. The infestation took about a year, and according to Chuck, as of yesterday there were Croats on every fucking continent, save Antarctica. 

The idea that a kid, who must be, what, twelve? Thirteen? Dean had no idea how old the boy was, and the idea that any kid could survive out of these walls, alone, was sheer lunacy. Which accounts for the slight overreaction at his arrival. 

Dean felt a twinge of regret-- the poor kid must be fucking terrified. Standard protocol stated that all unexpected visitors are greeted by half the available guns at camp, but this is the only time a ‘guest’ had actually still been human. It didn’t help that the kid seemed to be covered in literal shit, and smelled like death itself. Thank god the kid cried out when he did-- Croats didn’t speak any English, and his terror saved his life. They stuffed the kid in the lockdown cabin that normally stored returning scouts for twelve hours to make sure they were still clean. 

It had been over 24 hours, and the boy’s only outside contact had been a bottle of water, toilet paper roll, and some smoked meat being frantically launched through the cabin window. 

Dean sighed again, and pushed himself up, pacing, his heavy boots causing the boards to creak with every step. Chuck would have him fretting over this until the boy went crazy in isolation. If he wasn’t crazy already. Who knows what kind of psychological damage had he suffered? Unfortunately, his other two advisors, Sam and Charlie, were out looking for a bigger food source, far out of Croat-Ville. They weren’t due back for another three days. Dean couldn’t wait that long. He needed answers. 

Dean paced over to the window, and picked up his binoculars, to take one last look over at the hot box. The kid showed no sign of croating out over the past day, just exhaustion, and probably more than his fair share of trauma. 

That settled it for him. Dean strode carefully out of the cabin, his boots splashing the mud puddle at the base of the flimsy stairs, and made his way across the worn out dirt path that separated the hot box from the rest of the camp. He nodded to the two men on guard, stationed in case the kid Croated out and tried to make a break for it. 

One hand on the pistol in his belt, Dean set about undoing the many latches on the cabin, and then raised up his shoulder, ready to burst in, before reconsidering. He sharply knocked on the door, and heard the boy start towards the noise. The door slowly opened, and Dean wasn't fully prepared for the ice blue eyes boring into him. He was taller than he remembered, or maybe he was just standing up straight instead of cowering beneath their guns. Same difference. 

“Hi,” Dean grunted, and was almost startled when the boy stuck out his hand, before Dean realized he was supposed to shake it. 

“Castiel,” The boy's voice was surprisingly rough, no doubt from lack of water in the midst of puberty. 

“Dean Winchester,” He said, grasping the kid’s hand, shaking seriously. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Castiel asked, jutting his chin out, his eyes more weary than scared. 

Dean sighed. Even if this kid’s body was left untouched by the Croats, his poor mind was done for. 

“Now that we know you’re human? No way kid,” Dean said slowly, and saw the tension melt away from the kid in front of him, his chin dropping, shoulders slumping. 

“We aren’t the monsters here,” Dean spoke gravely, his tone instantly bringing the boy back to attention.

“Now how about you tell me how you made it out here?” Dean sat down in the one stool occupying the corner of the dank cabin. 

“I need your help,” Cas said seriously.

Castiel retreated to the ancient mattress, and he began rambling, the nonlinear babble that floods from one who has been unable to speak for a long, long time. 

Dean managed to catch that Castiel had traveled with his family, a big one, Luke, Gabriel, Anna, Michael, and finally Claire. All gone, except Claire, his older sister. 

By the time the kid finished, his story, tears had begun to well in his eyes. 

“Please, I know it- it’s probably too late, and dangerous, and an unnecessary risk, but please,” Cas looked up at Dean, the floodgates opened as tears streamed from his pale blue eyes, 

“She’s all I have left.”

Dean had hardened himself long ago, maybe even before Croat-Ville, but Castiel’s plea could have melted stone. 

“C’mon Cas,” Dean said as he strode out of the hot box, the kid stumbling out after him. 

Dean signaled for the two men, Adam and Garth, to follow him to the center of camp. There was no need for a signal, the whole camp was out and on edge ever since Castiel had shown up. Every man and woman was poised for action, and so Dean hardly needed to shout for everyone to gather around him.

“I need ten able guns, we’re going on a rescue,” Dean called. 

He saw, more than heard, the ripple of confusion through the assembled, but he ignored it, and hoped he got enough volunteers for the mission. He just focused on Castiel, his face brimming with a potent mixture of hope and fear. 

Dean hadn’t prayed, well, ever. But watching Cas’s face, as the fate of his sister rested on his shoulders, made Dean want to pray to every deity that they find her. And goddamnit, maybe Dean finds himself, against all reason, hoping, that she’s still human. God help him. God save them all. 

They left in the early morning, hoping for as much daylight as possible on the wintery morning. 

"Why?" 

Dean looked to his left, the light from the four other cars in the makeshift caravan serving as the only light source to illuminate the sullen boy next to him. Power plants began to shut down a couple months after the outbreak, plunging city by city into darkness, until the entire country, the entire world, was blackened. 

"Why what?" Dean grunted, keeping his eyes on the dirt road that led behind the city walls, on the lookout for any unwelcome guests. 

Dean heard Cas swallow, audibly, before continuing,"I must say I am eternally grateful for your service, but, this is, is, a fool's errand. Why are you helping me?"

Cas flinched as Dean's laugh echoed through the truck, the only sound save for the soft crunch of rubber on dirt. 

"What kid talks like that?" Dean mused aloud. 

"How old are you anyway,?" Dean spared Castiel a glance, his grin widening at how the boy looked downright affronted. 

"Fifteen," Castiel said, with all the self assurance that accompanied the age. 

"Fifteen," Dean repeated, "So you were only twelve when the world went to shit,"

"Yes."

"And you've been fighting tooth and nail since, your family forming a tight band,"

"Yes."

"And one by one, this godforsaken life has taken your family, the only tether you have in this godforsaken world."

Dean glanced to the right once more, and suddenly noticed the tears making clean streaks down Castiel's dirty face. 

Dean locked his eyes upon the road once more

He continued, albeit in a much softer voice, "And now, the last of your family, is hiding-where did you say?" 

"In the old radio station, the 'KROQ' building," Castiel managed to warble out, his eyes glued to the 50 foot high fences that were approaching quickly. 

Fat load of good those fences did, shoddily built in the peak of infection. It seemed like every city in America had a partial chain link fence, 25, 50, even one hundred feet high. It only took one person, one bite, to send an entire city into the red within a few days. Soon, instead of marking safe zones, the fences attempted to pen in the infected zone, trapping the uninfected inside, sealing their fate. Consolidating losses, is what the president called it, when there still was a president. 

"Claire, you said her name was, is all you have left. So we're going to get her back."

Dean pulled over, signaling the caravan to follow suit, before turning to face Castiel head on. 

“Ever fire a gun before?” Dean asked, and felt his stomach turn as the teen nodded solemnly. He tried to find solace in the fact that at least the kid wouldn’t be too much of a liability.

Dean hopped out of the cab quickly, grabbing the two large semis out of the back, priming both, before climbing back in. He handed Cas the smaller of the two, before carefully laying his own out of the way. He knew his team behind him followed the same procedure.

Dean started the flatbed again, heading straight for the hole in the fence, the light of the dawn touching their destination as if it were some sort of profound symbol, though Dean had learned to ignore these long ago.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three years ago_

The last words John Winchester said to Dean were incoherent and unmemorable. Dean’s last word to John was “Sorry,” mingled among broken sobs. His words were probably just as incoherent, as he groveled through the blood welling inside his mouth. 

Dean’s jaw tightened as he remembered how carefully he held the blood in his mouth, mindful of spilling onto the carpet. That would only set John off. He hated the blood. 

He didn’t want to tell Sammy about it. Of course his brother had asked where Dad was after Dean showed up, shivering and alone at his barricaded dorm room. 

“Dean, there’s gotta be a reason you’re here alone,” Sam whispered.

Dean studied his little brother’s face, his face highlighted with parallel lines of light, filtering down from the floorboards they hid beneath. His brother hadn’t questioned Dean’s bruised jaw and put two and two together. Small miracles.

“I’m here to save you, try and sound grateful,” Dean tried his best to sound convincing while whispering shouting with his knees pressed up to his chin. 

Dean saw the gears turning in Sam’s head, and he felt his stomach churn. 

“Where would we even go?” Sam whispered back.

He was spared answering while footsteps creaked somewhere overhead. Whether there were Croats or scared coeds above them, there was no difference. Desperation brought out the worst in everyone, and Dean knew blood would be shed over even a mediocre hiding spot. Sam, being his paranoid father’s paranoid son, had already created a makeshift shelter, dug out underneath his suite’s floorboards, with water, snacks, and more importantly, guns. And if Dean were to drag him away from perhaps the only shelter for miles, he ought to have a freakin plan. But of course he didn’t think about that before he invaded his brother’s hideout, blindly running from the truth. Now he was just using up the precious resources his little brother could have been using to survive longer. 

The creaking subsided, and Sam leaned forward again. 

“Did Dad set up shelter somewhere? Is he meeting us?” 

The hope in his voice weighed on his soul. After all these years, Sammy still trusted him. And Dean was going to get them killed. 

“I _have to tell him,_ ” Dean readied himself, when a crash sounded above them, and their timber shelter reverberated. 

Without speaking, Sam slid Dean his spare backpack. Dean gripped it with one hand, swinging 

it over his shoulder as he steadied his gun with the other. He rolled himself up into a crouch, his eyes glued to the hinge of their hideout. 

The meandering drag instead of quick footfalls told the boys that it was a croat. It shuffled closer and closer to the false planks, and Dean knew it had somehow picked up their presence, whether by smell or another preternatural predator instinct. Soon it would attract the attention of others, and the boys would be pinned down and destroyed. 

Dean held up 3 fingers, and saw Sammy nod out of the corner of his eye. 3 seconds. 2 seconds. 1 second. 

Dean leaped up, knocking the false planks back, and the croat off balance. The beast stumbled back, it’s lank blonde hair and vacant eyes a grotesque after image of the girl it once was, before charging. Before Dean could get a shot off, the monster’s head exploded, and Dean felt his eardrums explode along with it. 

“C’mon!” He shouted deafly, as Sammy gripped his shotgun instead of running for the window. 

“She was in my Gov class,” He said lamely, as Dean pushed him forward. 

“Well she’s got friends!” Dean shouted, as the already unmistakable shuffle of Croats got louder. 

That spurred Sam into action, and the boys jumped deftly out of the first floor windows. 

How the Impala stayed in relative shape over the past twelve hours Dean will never know. He found it hidden under the same tarp, and he struggled to unlock the old fashioned door. 

“Hurry up Dean!” Sam shouted over his shoulder as Dean jiggled the handle. 

“C’mon Baby,” Dean prayed, and pried the door wide open. 

Sammy looked back, and dove across the bench. Dean hopped in shortly after, and peeled out of the parking lot. 

By the time they reached the freeway, Dean’s breathing and hearing almost returned to normal. Dodging around abandoned cars on the local streets was a nightmare, but at some point the army must have come in and cleared some of the highway wreckage, because it was slightly better getting out of Paolo Alto. 

He heard Sam speaking in the background, but he managed to ignore him while swerving to avoid yet another abandoned car. 

“Where is Dad meeting us Dean?” Sam practically shouted in his ear, and Dean winced. 

When the interstate junction came up, Dean just picked south. 

And that was the million dollar question. How to tell your little brother that your father would rather die alone, drunk, than reunite his family at the end of the world. And how could he tell his brother that his father was as good as gone, the last family in this cursed world outside that car which was suddenly so so small. 

How could any disappointment live up to this? The last time Dad had abandoned them like this was-

“Texas. He’s meeting us in Texas.” 

Dean would tell Sammy, if they ever got down to Sonny’s camp, deep in Bumblefuck, Texas, that Dad must have been delayed meeting them. In the meantime, Dean thought of the correctional camp’s high barbed fences. Its proximity to running water. Its semi-functional cabins. 

He would eke out a life. He would not roll over and die like John. He would live.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue!

Castiel was the youngest of the Novaks, and so he was always protected. That was the unspoken arrangement of their family. That arrangement, that _promise_ , only intensified as the members of the family began to dwindle, despite Castiel’s insistence to the contrary. They _all_ needed to protect each other, all needed to sacrifice. What good was good Christian values if it didn’t teach you how to put the whole over yourself? 

The siblings picked up and left their sprawling Massachusetts mansion after their father failed to return from his golf retreat in Miami and their mother failed to return from her skiing vacation in Aspen. Michael took on the role of patriarch, and the Novak’s fell in line. 

All too soon, after years of fighting, three years of dying, somehow the two youngest, only Castiel and Claire, remained. Claire was only two years his senior, but those two years meant that Cas would be protected, above herself and all else.

So when Croats busted into the radio building, their final refuge before seeking one of the rumored survivor communities, it was Claire who drew their attention from her dear baby brother with her automatic, wasting the few bullets they had.

It was Claire, who sent Cas into their one escape route, the narrow sewage pipeline, which they prayed led out of the city. And it was Claire, who sealed the cover after him, trapping herself with the Croats, alone. Cas screamed and screamed as the bullets flew, his limbs frozen. The bullets stopped, and he listened, strained to hear anything as the gun report echoed around his ears. 

He heard his sister shout, “Go get help Castiel, I’ll be fine. Go find help.”

So he ran. He ran and then crawled, and then swam, until he found the end of the pipes, choosing random directions, until the air smelled less putrid, the sky looking more blue through his limited view from grate to grate. He found a cover, long rusted over, and shoved with all his might, until his shoulder was bruised and bleeding, until he was free. 

That had been three days ago. It had taken him a day to find his way to camp, not daring to sleep, in case a Croat found him. His twenty four hour lock down following his gun filled welcome to camp did nothing for his fried nerves. It seemed as if from the moment he and Claire were separated, his stomach had tried to climb out of his mouth. So how is it possible, that, with a gun in his hand, looking carefully through the sights as he approached the abandoned radio station, he had never felt more calm? 

The small caravan pulled up outside the building, forming a tight perimeter around the main entrance. Dean got out first, and quickly signaled the others to fall in a diamond configuration. 

He watched carefully ahead, as Dean kicked down the door, gun drawn, waiting for Croat activity in the lobby. Cas didn’t even flinch as Dean shot one, a long haired man, from behind immediately. It was as if someone else carefully climbed the steps behind Dean, someone who knew what they were doing, someone who didn’t stand to lose everything based on the outcome of the next few minutes. 

Most of Castiel’s cool had to be attributed to Dean, so strong and self assured, it felt as if nothing bad could ever happen on his watch. He was larger than life, and he said they would get Claire back, so they would. Simple as that. 

The company climbed the stairs, five in front, five in back, haltingly moving from landing to landing. After a cursory look on each floor, the crew kept moving up the stairs, taking down Croat after Croat. Cas wondered if they knew to pause for Claire, what if they shot her by accident? What if, what if she turned already? What did a four day old Croat look like? Would he recognize his sister?

“We usually stick to the top floors when we can,” Cas told Dean, who nodded, and kept the party moving up the stairs, until they reached the floor that used to house the recording booth. 

Cas heard them before he saw them. The unnatural, unceasing, thump, thump, against the hard, wooden door. Ten, maybe even twenty, Croats, ramming themselves against the door, nearly indistinguishable, a mass of rotting flesh and matted hair. So intent on their prey, that the mindless monsters failed to sense the fresh meat behind them, until it was far too late. The older ones were always stupider. Dean gave the signal, and before long, the entire mass was a formless pulp on the ground.

There were two ways to kill a Croat, bullet straight to the brain, or fire. The infection had a sort of ripening effect upon the body. A day old Croat still looked like a person, a week old Croat looked like a rotten corpse. Good thing about it, as soon as the head, the control center for the monster, was compromised, the entire body loses any animation. A dead Croat looked more like a pile of rags than a corpse, which made mowing down a group that much easier. 

They reached the studio room, the last intact door in the builidng. One or two bullets lodged themselves in the door, but the integrity of it remained. 

Dean hesitatingly skirted around the door, gun still cocked, and shot off the knob, before kicking in the old recording booth door. He pulled his gun up, and Cas watched as Dean found himself staring down the barrel of another.

“Claire!” Cas shouted, the tension seeping from his shoulders, he let his gun fall.

“This ain’t over yet, kid,” Dean said, his gun still trained on Claire. 

Claire, for her part, kept her gun aimed back at Dean.

“Claire, I found a community. We’ll be safe there,” Cas said, and Claire nodded back to him, keeping her gun raised as she stepped out of the room. 

It was an awkward shuffle back to the trucks, Garth and Benny taking out five more Croats which surprised them upon exiting.

It was even more uncomfortable when they reached the trucks, Claire relegated to the back seat, now with Castiel’s gun on her instead.

“You can take it off her once we know she’s clean,” Dean said in response to Cas’s unspoken protest.

“I told you, I didn’t get bitten,” Claire spit out. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered to his sister, who still had her weapon to the back of Dean’s skull. 

“Don’t be Cassie, we’re almost safe,” she said, her words surprisingly sweet for someone holding a deadly weapon. 

Twelve hours later, when Claire stumbled out of the hotbox, Cas practically tackled her to the ground. Both were so weak, Claire more so. It was a pitiful reunion. 

Both had enough scars from their separation, from their losses, to last a lifetime, and suddenly Cas felt rather than saw Dean watching them. The older man turned away, but Cas ran after him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas whispered up at him, as Claire slowly made her way to her new tent. 

Dean hesitated for a moment, then hugging Cas back, before going off to solve the next crisis.

Soon after, Dean’s second in command, Sam, showed the two of them to some vinyl tents, pitched outside some of the ramshackle cabins in the survivor community. 

“Food tent is over on the West side of camp-- don’t think about sneaking food, only Benny and Dean keep the key to the food stores. River is our southern border, y’all can wash up there,” Sam paused, throwing a pointed look at Cas, who hadn’t managed to change since his sewer escape.

“Thank you,” Cas mumbled.

“No problem. Dinner is at sunset,” Sam left with a friendly wave. 

Cas and Claire trudged down to the river in relative silence, ignoring the stares from the other Croat-Ville residents.

“They probably hate us, they used up a lot of manpower trying to get me back,” Claire remarked. 

“Well, we’re a part of them now, whether they like it or not,” Cas said.

When they reached the river, they stripped quietly. Cas waded in slowly, before submerging himself completely. When he came up for air, shaking out his hair, he realized this was the first time he breathed easy in a long, long time. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Three years ago_

After four days, they made it down to Texas, and Dean had some explaining to do. They had to ditch the Impala somewhere in Nevada. As much as it pained Dean to say goodbye to Baby, big American cars were gas guzzlers, and every pit stop could mean the end of their family. They traded it in for a Honda minivan and kept moving. Good thing they traded up when they did. 

In Arizona they found Charlie, a former professional gamer who had set herself up in an old arcade, using the lights and sounds to disorient Croats before she took them out from a hiding place in the rafters. Turns out she was as good at shooting in real life as she was virtually. 

In New Mexico they found Chuck, a squirly little writer who was hiding in the walk-in freezer of a Dairy Queen with no weapons. They brought him along to. 

They found Benny defending his restaurant, and after the best meal Dean had ever had, they brought him along to. 

When they reached the gates, carefully combing through the old cabins, searching for Croats. They didn’t find any, but found a kitchen with a working gas stove, some outhouses, a well, and some beds. 

After checking the perimeter fence for any breaks, together Sam and Dean pulled the front gate closed, and padlocked it.

“One of us should keep watch for Dad,” Sam said, scratching his head.

“Right, yeah. I’ll take the first watch bud, you get some sleep,” Dean said, standing firm.

Sam headed back, receding into the dark, and Dean made a mental note to find something to burn, maybe make some candles to keep at night. 

Dean stared out at the darkness beyond the gates. The nearest city was a distant bright spot on the horizon. Dean figured the lights would stay on until the power plants ran out of juice. He didn’t know what he would tell Sammy. He figured it was kinder to let Sam think his father had died fighting rather than let the Croats take him. If Dean could do one last thing for John Winchester, it would be to save his memory. 

Over the next few months, on supply runs into towns, they found more survivors, people desperate for a safe haven. Families, single people, friend groups, all flocked to what they soon dubbed “Croat-Ville.” They learned to build cabins, sew clothes, shoot, hunt. Dean found himself at the center of it all. He was just twenty, and now people were asking him how to fish, and for permission to search for their families, and what was happening next. He kept expecting someone, anyone, to come take his place, take this burden off him. But his father was dead. So he made plans, a council, and soon they had a little society. 

And Sam stopped asking them to search for Dad. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean watched Castiel fall on his butt, again, from his vantage point at the weapons cabin. Benny offered the boy a hand, and pulled him to his feet. 

Few kids lasted more than a few months outside the walls of a camp like theirs. It wasn’t only the sub-human rage monsters out there; roaming bands of ruthless scavengers occasionally terrorized settlements such as theirs. Cas needed someone to look out for him, and while Claire was tough as hell, she was still only eighteen. And so Dean sought to ensure Castiel, and Claire’s, safety. That meant training, every day, in scavenging, hand to hand combat, and most importantly, marksmanship. 

Claire proved herself immediately, Dean having paired her up with Charlie for target practice, followed by Kevin for hand to hand training each day. Charlie would deny it on her deathbed, but the girl would probably be able to outshoot her within the year. And while Dean was sure that no one on Earth could best Kevin, according to him, Claire was well on her way to becoming the second biggest badass in camp. 

As for Castiel, well, Dean was a little worried. 

“The kid’s gonna need your eye on him,” Sam’s voice came from behind him, and Dean didn’t even bother to glance at his little brother. 

“I know, I know.” Dean gripped the window sill more tightly as he watched Cas get thrown down once more by Benny. 

Dean had to hand it to him, every time he was thrown down, he just scrambled back up, eager for more. Still, Sam had a point, the boy would have to learn how to fight, actually fight, soon. God forbid if any Roamers tried getting into camp before he was ready. At first they tried to welcome the Roamers in, the more humans the better. But Dean found that those who hadn’t hunkered down came to love that lifestyle, and didn’t care who they had to hurt to keep it.

The man shuddered inaudibly, conscious of his brother’s gaze, before striding out of the ancient, wooden, excuse for a building. 

“Benny!” Dean called out, the large man pausing mid step, most likely about to succeed in knocking Castiel down once more. 

“How about you, uh,” Dean hesitated before placing a hand on Benny’s shoulder, “Take a break.”

“Sure thing, brother,” Benny gave him an easy smile, and wiped the sweat collecting under his cap, before sauntering away.

Dean avoided watching him leave. Ever since Andrea had made it into camp, the big bear had become off limits. Instead, Dean looked down at the exhausted teen staring back at him. 

Before Dean could speak, Cas piped up, “I know what you’re going to say, I’m a failure.” 

He cast his eyes to the ground, waiting for confirmation. Dean felt something akin to pity surge through him. His arm found its way around Castiel's shoulders, and soon he was guiding the bewildered teen towards the mess hall. 

“When I feel shitty, you know what I like to do?” Dean asked.

He felt Cas shrug before continuing, “Eat my feelings.”

Cas sat himself down at a picnic table as Dean went to the food stores and grabbed some deer jerky. Dean sat back across from Cas, and dug into the meat, and after a few moments, Cas joined him, ripping small strips and eating them slowly. 

“Now, you’re not the greatest fighter we’ve ever seen,” Dean started.

Cas nodded slowly, focusing on his food. 

“But you’re just getting started and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” 

“I, I just don’t wanna be a burden. I think, I think if my family hadn’t had to look after me so carefully when I was younger, well, they would still be around,” Cas mumbled.

Dean felt his heart break. 

“Hey, look at me,” Dean said, and Cas dragged his eyes up to meet his.

“What happened to your family is not your fault. It’s not Claire’s fault. It’s this fucked up place we call home. And you’re not a burden. There are a lot of things you can do to help keep this place running.”

Cas nodded along, “I just wanna help.”

Despite his better judgement, Dean allowed Castiel blow off training for the rest of the day. He let the kid follow him around for the rest of the day, checking on residents, inspecting the border, working on some construction projects. He even let Cas sit in on his advisor meeting for that day. 

Soon, somehow sooner than usual, the sun dipped below the tall hills which lay opposite the city, and evening descended upon the camp. 

“C’mon kid,” Dean called Cas away from his animated conversation with Chuck, to walk him back to his tent. Cas immediately jumped up, muttering a quiet goodbye over his shoulder. 

The pair walked slowly down the main dirt road of the complex, the dying light cloaking them. Cas fiddled with the fraying edge of his shirt, and Dean made a mental note to try and get him a new one. 

“I like it here, Dean,” Cas said softly, breaking their silence as they neared his tent. 

Dean smiled, “I’m gonna take over your training from now on,” he decided.

“Are you sure? You’re so busy running everything.”

Dean thought about how good Cas had been at talking to residents, and how well he’d taken notes during the meeting. No, the kid definitely wasn’t a burden. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The look on Cas’s face could only be described as delighted, and almost reverential. The teen launched himself at Dean, and despite his scrawny form, managed to put some serious force into the hug. Dean had no choice but to hug him back, barely making out the ‘Thank you Dean,’ that was muttered into his chest. 

“Anytime, buddy,” Dean murmured, before awkwardly extracting himself from the embrace. 

Cas crawled into his tent, and Dean walked away, feeling lighter. He was even able to turn a deaf ear to the shouted, “Fuck you!” that came from across the way, which he knew must have come from Risa’s cabin. If he was able to make people like Cas feel safe, well, he couldn't be all that bad. 


	6. Chapter 6

_They were everywhere. He could hear them, scratching, pummeling, tearing down the walls of his tent. He could feel the vibrations through the ground, as dozens, hundreds, thousands, of Croats came closer, and closer, surrounding him. Castiel could feel their hands, grabbing his ankles, his wrists, his neck. He just couldn’t see the beasts, couldn’t face the unholy terror which would end him. Everything was dark, so dark, and Castiel felt certain that his world could never be light again. He could smell the sewage around him as he waded for his life, still feeling hands gripping his shoulders as he strove desperately towards the light, towards fresh air, to -_

Castiel jerked awake, sitting up straight, his back as stiff as a lightning rod. He tried to catch his breath, as he slowly patted himself down, sweat forcing his T-Shirt to stick to his body in odd places. He breathed in slowly through his nose, then out his mouth, and once some of the residual adrenaline fled his system, he could feel the chill of the night creep upon him. He dove back into his sleeping bag, and tried to zip the fabric around him, a process he must have undone over the course of his nightmare. Cas knew he could crawl out of his small, vinyl, tent, and be at Claire’s side in an instant, and that, regardless of the late hour, she would welcome him. And yet Cas felt himself unable to leave his tent, and equally unable to fall back asleep. He couldn’t bear to burden his sister, no more than he already did, now that they were safe, now that they were protected, because he had had a stupid nightmare. 

He immediately dismissed his second impulse, which was to bypass Claire’s tent entirely and head to _Dean’s_ cabin _._ Not that Cas ever thought he could act on the near constant stream of impulses that always followed the mere thought of Dean and his frustratingly handsome face, which had plagued Castiel ever since recovering Claire. 

Ever since he and Claire were rescued two months ago, since he was able to relax for a moment after he knew that he and his sister were safe, well, as safe as anyone could ever be in these days, his body decided it was time to jumpstart puberty. It was all Dean’s fault. Cas just kept _noticing_ things about him. He could notice the splash of freckles across his face, his slightly bow legged gait, the way his biceps swelled when he crossed his arms, the almost pedantic pout that usually accompanies the gesture, his raunchy sense of humor and the shit eating grin he wears after telling a joke…

After some frantic rubbing against his threadbare pillow, Cas drifted off to sleep.

Early the next morning, Cas snuck down to the river and waded in his shorts, to try to get them clean. Laundry was done communally, and Cas didn’t think he could suffer the embarrassment of handing off his clothes to someone else in this state. By the time he got back to his tent, Claire, Charlie, and Dean were all waiting for him.

“What’s going on?” Cas asked, focusing on Claire. He was too embarrassed to even look at Dean.

“We’re going on a little hunting expedition,” Charlie explained, before handing Cas a rifle, “It’s deer season, so we should at least be able to take down a couple bucks.”

Cas nodded, and together they stalked to the edge of camp, where they kept half a dozen vehicles. Cas tried to hop in the car with Charlie, but Claire beat him to the shotgun seat, sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Dean said, gesturing to the next jeep, “Don’t worry, we’ll outshoot them.” Soon the crew rolled slowly out the gates, driving at 10 miles per hour like they were on safari. Dean drove carefully, as relaxed as possible when outside the camp’s walls. They rode in silence for a while, how long Cas couldn’t tell. It wasn’t as if anyone bothered keeping track of time anymore. Not for the first time did it occur to Cas that he really didn’t know Dean at all. It wasn’t as if people enjoyed talking about Before. But he and Dean spent so much time together, and the man never volunteered much. 

“The key is to aim just behind the shoulder,” Dean said, interrupting Cas’ thoughts. While he’d been lost in thought, the car pulled up over the lip of a hill, a few hundred yards from where a large group of deer were grazing by the river. He was normally more alert, and Cas told himself to be more vigilant from now on. 

“The first shot is gonna scatter the herd, so we’ll go at the same time. I’m going for the big buck, right there,” Dean pointed past Cas’ shoulder, to the biggest deer Cas had ever seen.

The Croats seemed to only have a taste for human flesh. After the cities fell, animal life seemed to flourish. 

“I’ll go for that one,” Cas said, picking a fat looking deer that was drinking from the river.

“Not that one bud, that one’s gonna be a momma soon,” Dean said, “Look for one with larger antlers. Like that one,” Dean pointed. Cas nodded, and followed Dean as he carefully exited the truck and layed down on the lip of the hill. Cas tried not to revel in their proximity-- he could feel Dean’s every little shift as he propped up his rifle, could hear his breath as he adjusted his grip on the trigger. Together they aimed the sights of their rifles, and soon they were driving down to the bank of the river, two deers bleeding out on the ground.

“Now we put them out of their misery,” Dean said, leaning down with his knife. Cas looked away, but helped Dean drag the deer up into the back of the truck. Cas managed to make a mess of himself, but Dean stayed clean, somehow.

“Did you hunt before all this?” Cas asked, and saw Dean stiffen. 

“Sorry, I know you don’t like to talk about before, I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry,” Cas backtracked. 

“My old man would take me and Sammy out,” Dean said carefully.

Cas nodded.

“Not just, deer. You gotta know something Cas, there are other things out there besides just the Croats.”

“I didn’t exactly have an address growing up. I spent most of my time in my old man’s car, or in motel rooms,” Dean spoke flatly.

“So you didn’t go to school?” Cas asked, feeling emboldened. 

Dean glanced at him then, facing him, but his eyes a million miles away. 

“I went to schools here and there, but Sammy’s the one who actually hit the books.”

“He was always a string bean, but I used to be the tall brother. Always had his nose in a book, even on hunts, he was our fact guy,” Dean said.

“What’s hunting like?” Cas asked quietly.

“It was a little different each time. There was no ‘classic’ outing. Sometimes it’s a ghost, or it’s a vampire, or a werewolf. On rare days, it’s a gross combination of some ugly monster and another.”

“But we took care of ‘em all in the end,” Dean clutched the steering wheel tighter, “We started up when Mom died. A vampire took her from us.” 

“We sold the house in Lawrence, and were on the road ever since. Well, until Sam split at 17 for California. The outbreak hit when he was a freshman at Stanford.”

Cas waited for Dean to say more, but it was clear he was done talking. So Cas filled the silence as they drove around for the rest of the morning, searching for another herd. He talked about growing up in that big house in Massachusetts. He talked about Luke’s moods, and Anna’s art, and Gabe’s pranks and the stick up Michael’s ass. He didn’t talk about his father leaving. Or about his mother’s withdrawal. He didn’t talk about the outbreak. 

“And so Gabe had placed lube inside Michael’s hand-sanitizer, and what probably wasn’t imitation dog feces on the front door knob. So when Michael came inside, disgusted, he reached for the sanitizer bottle, and ended up squirting the lube all over his suit. And when he tried to pick up the bottle to throw at Gabe, it kept slipping through his fingers. Finally he gave up and just tackled him.” 

Cas wheezed out the end of the story, and he could faintly make out Dean’s smile as they pulled up to the gates of camp. The smile turned into a scowl when Charlie and Claire pulled up behind them, six massive deer crowding the flatbed and roof of their truck. 

“Read it and weep Winchester,” Charlie taunted. 

“Fuck off Bradberry,” Dean shot back, but there was no venom in his voice. Charlie’s haul meant that everyone would eat well for the next few weeks. And even if Cas didn’t know much about Dean’s past, at least he knew he would make sure they were fed. 

After they finished dragging the meat inside the gates, Cas watched warily as some woman, Tina something, sauntered up to Dean as he was treating one of the deer for storage. 

“You really know your way around that huh?” she said.

Cas felt his heart drop as he watched Dean flirt back, getting up and leaning over her to show her how to clean off the body. Cas wanted to run, but he felt rooted to the spot, just stuck watching Dean smile easily. 

“Cas, come on, I need help with this one,” Claire called, snapping Cas out of his stupor. 

As they gutted the deer and Cas felt his nausea rise, he knew it had nothing to do with the carcass in front of him.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean carefully tapped the final nail on the final board into place. He walked backwards and grinned, admiring his own handiwork. He turned to the new occupants of the cabin, and even Claire’s professional sulk couldn’t dim Castiel’s bubbling enthusiasm.

“Whatcha think?” Dean asked, spreading his arms wide.

“Took you long enough,” Claire uncrossed her arms to pick up the few belongings she and Castiel had amassed, carrying them towards the cabin. 

She paused at Dean’s side, and reached up to give him a quick punch in the arm, “Thanks.”

In the nine months the siblings had occupied the camp, Dean had slowly worn Claire down, and managed to get a nice word or two out of her on a good day. Charlie certainly had something to do with Claire’s elevated mood. Something about Charlie’s endless sunshine managed to wear Claire down, and seeing as they were the closest in age of the folks at camp, the two spent most of their time together. Dean watched as Claire dropped her stuff off on one side of the shack, before bounding off, undoubtedly to meet Charlie at the shooting range. 

Dean heard a small sigh to his left, and saw Castiel staring wistfully at the cabin. 

“C’mon, let’s go handle the day,” Dean called over, and he didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know the teen was dutifully following him. 

It had taken Dean nine months to gather enough wood on varying scouting trips to make a place hospitable enough to house the Novaks. In the interim, Castiel had woven himself into the very fabric of camp life. Despite his shortcomings as a fighter, something Dean tried to work with him on every day, Cas still tried to help out in every way imaginable. He split wood with Benny, collected resources with Chuck, told stories with Kevin, even worked his way into a probationary position on Dean’s advisory council. Truth be told, Dean would rather listen to Cas’s advice over the indecisive Chuck anyday. If the people of their little settlement were unhappy that they were governed in part by someone who was about to turn 17, well, they kept their mouths shut about it. 

In nine months, Castiel himself had filled out. Regular meals doing wonders for the young man’s health, not to mention that he was no longer running for his life every second of the day. His hair was as unruly as ever, and something had to be done about the scraggly beard beginning to grow on his face. 

That notion stuck in Dean’s head. The pair worked their way down the list of chores for the morning, including tending to the bee colony Cas rescued after they found a bunch of honey bees seeking refuge in an old ice cream van. Soon enough, Dean led Castiel back to his own cabin. Cas stepped inside the large, old cabin that Dean shared with his brother. While none of the cabins had much in the way of interior design, Sam had taken to drawing landscapes, something about “imagining the world we want” or some other hippie garbage. 

“Has anyone ever taught you how to shave, Cas?” Dean asked, as he opened up the small cabinet over one of the few actual sinks in camp, not that it actually gave up fresh water. 

Garth, who had been a plumber in the days before Croat-Ville, has been working on some sort of pump-well system, to deliver fresh water to everyone at camp. That way they could continuously pump in the water they would need, instead of a few unlucky souls having to travel to the reservoir once a day to get enough. Garth promised it would be finished in the next year or so. 

“No, Dean,” Cas said after a time.

Dean drew two razors from the cabinet, and then grabbed a small bowl. He ambled over to the ten gallon barrel of water he kept by the entrance, and filled the bowl, conscious of Castiel’s eyes on him. He set up shop in front of one of the few, precious, mirrors in camp, one of Dean’s few luxuries.

“Well, today’s as good as any,” the man looked up, a fragile smile on his face as he extended his hand holding the razor. His smile became genuine as Cas took the razor hesitantly.

Dean showed Cas how to dip the razor in water, and gently glide it over his face, walking the balance between a close shave and slicing open your own face. They shared companionable silence, Dean glancing over every few seconds to watch Cas’s face squint in concentration. Dean finished, putting his razor in the bowl. He reached over, making sure Cas saw his every move, before gently prying Cas’s razor out of his hand. 

“You missed a spot,” Dean said, and saw Cas carefully still, as Dean delicately worked to remove some of the hair right by Cas’s lower jaw. 

Dean pulled away, and saw Cas check himself out in the mirror, patting his face carefully.

“There, you’re a big boy now,” Dean smacked Castiel’s back, letting out a weak laugh. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas turned to him, a grin breaking his usual somber demeanor. 

The two stood in silence for a moment, though Dean wasn’t sure what had made the room feel tense. 

“Do you wanna help prep for tonight? A man only turns twenty three once!” Dean asked, not looking at the teen as he started to clean up the shaving kits.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean knew he meant it. 

Sam had teased Dean about Castiel’s supposed crush on him almost as soon as he returned to camp all those months ago. Dean dismissed him at the time, but his mind couldn’t help return to his brother’s words when the kid just kept _looking_ at him. All the fucking time. Looking at him like he was worth something. Like he could actually help somebody. Like he was a hero. That kind of raw admiration was dangerous, and if Dean were to stop lying to himself for a minute, he would admit he was growing used to it. 

Dean managed to keep Cas busy for the rest of the day, gathering wood with Kevin, helping Benny make cakes, overseeing Charlie’s moonshine to make sure it didn’t kill anybody. Dean took over the more boring camp duties. There was a dispute over who had dibs on some clothes from the latest haul. A pregnant woman who’d lost her partner in the city needed to be brought all her meals. He had new resource trips to plan. Greenhouse plans to approve. Material hunting for yet another expansion of the camp’s perimeter. A little society to run.

By the time the actual party rolled around, Dean was almost too exhausted to enjoy it. Dean tried to relax, they didn’t have parties often. All the noise and light put a target on their little home, but every now and then the risk was worth it. He had a pleasant buzz, Benny and some of the women had a small band playing with salvaged instruments, and Jane was making eyes at him over the bonfire. He let her take a seat on his lap, and she took the opportunity to attach her mouth to his neck. He laughed, the bootleg liquor warm in his belly, and Jane, a warm body in his arms. He closed his eyes, trying to stir up some happiness. When he opened his eyes again, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a scruffy head retreating from the bonfire. 

Dean didn’t know what came over him, but he found himself standing up, Jane sliding off with an angry grunt. He looked down, and had the decency to help her up, and look sheepish, but he made his excuses quickly, and took off after Cas.

Dean escaped nearly unnoticed from his own party. He could vaguely hear the music wafting over the buildings, as he arrived at Castiel’s darkened cabin at the edge of camp. He had seen the teen slip in, but at the darkened edifice he felt at a loss. He settled for knocking. 

“Cas? The party’s out there bud.” 

After several seconds, he tried again, “You in there?”

The silent treatment. That was unusual. The kid usually hung on Dean’s beck and call. Was he upset about Jane? Dean felt a cold, ugly feeling slither into his belly, suddenly feeling guilty about being so careless with Cas’ feelings. Sure, he didn’t feel the same way, Cas was only a kid. But he should have been more upfront about the whole thing. He was the adult here. 

“Cas, buddy? You’re worrying me, come out,” Dean called. 

When he was met with silence again, Dean decided a small privacy invasion was worth quelling his own curiosity. 

Dean entered, and his blood ran cold. Cas stood up stiffly, a knife to his neck, wielded by an angry blonde woman with wild eyes. 

“Don’t move,” she warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr ! @writerposer


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel wiped the welling tears from his face, as he stumbled away from the bonfire. He cursed himself, of course Dean would be fucking Jane tonight, just like he would move on to the next warm body tomorrow. He shouldn’t have been surprised, this had been Dean’s modus operandi for as long as he had known the man. Yet, he still allowed his soul to be crushed when he laid eyes on Jane, latched on to Dean like a leech. 

Just because Dean let Castiel follow him around like a lost puppy didn’t mean he felt any sort of _romantic_ feelings towards the teen. And this morning, when Dean had taught him how to shave, that was something brothers do for each other, and no amount of imagination on Castiel’s part would be able to change the nature of that relationship. 

That didn’t lessen the pain in his chest, and it certainly didn’t stop his tears from partially blinding him, as he staggered like the drunken revelers back at Dean’s party. Cas just hoped Dean didn’t see him run away, he didn’t want to make the man worry about him on his own birthday.

Castiel made it out to the edge of camp where his cabin lay, and was struck by the quiet. Not silence, the insects still chorused in their hidden world. Occasionally the wind brought a drunken guffaw to his ears. But the cars were gone. The planes were gone. The urban world he had grown in had disappeared. 

It was with those thoughts consuming him that Castiel walked directly into a trap. He stared dumbly at the knife the wild eyed woman wielded when he stepped into his cabin. The blade found its way to his neck as she gripped him tightly around the middle, and whirled him around. In his panic, he had failed to hear Dean come in, all the blood rushing in his ears. They locked eyes.

“Don’t move,” his captor warned. 

Cas could feel her strength, despite her slight frame. He could also hear the panic in her voice, feel the slight quiver in her grip as she sized up Dean. Cas knew that with all the training he had received, he was no match for the warrior beside him. He also knew that Dean was. Castiel closed his eyes, so he only heard the woman’s scream as Dean’s throwing knife embedded itself into her calf. Her grip loosened in her shock, and Cas used that opportunity to reach up and swipe her knife. It was over in less than a minute, and soon Dean held the woman on the ground, his knee between her shoulder blades, hands wrapped around her wrists. 

“Go get Sam and Charlie,” Dean said, calm as ever, his eyes not leaving his new prisoner. 

Castiel nodded, and ran out of his cabin, not stopping until he found Sam, cheeks red, laughing with Madison. 

Cas hesitantly tugged on the man’s arm, suddenly feeling awkward despite his important purpose. Sam turned, his face annoyed, before he saw the fear etched into the teen’s face. Sam made his excuses to Madison, and made his way to where Castiel had positioned himself at the edge of the fire. 

“Uh, Dean needs you. We have, uh, a visitor,” Cas said, as quietly as he could. 

“Croat?” Sam whispered back, gripping the gun attached to his side. 

“No, uh, a woman,” Castiel said, “In my cabin.” 

Sam nodded once, his hand leaving his weapon, and he strode away quickly.

Finding Charlie took much longer, with greater embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Cas said, backing out of Charlie’s cabin with his hands covering his eyes. 

“KNOCK FIRST YOU BRAT,” Claire shouted, gripping her sheets tightly around herself.

“Chill, babe,” Charlie leaned over, and pecked the fuming woman’s cheek. 

“Duty calls,” Charlie slid easily out of bed, unconcerned about her body as she pulled on her clothes. 

Charlie jogged lightly out of her cabin, making her way around the revelers to arouse the least suspicion. Cas followed her, even though Dean hadn’t asked him to come back. Cas slipped in his cabin, right behind Charlie, and made himself small in the corner as he normally did during council meetings. In the interim, Dean had managed to tie the woman to a chair, with apparently a little more struggle, judging by the fresh claw marks that Cas could barely make out on his face, even in the darkness of the room. 

Cas edged around the room, and lit the candle which rested in the corner of the room, on the wood block that served as Claire’s dresser. 

“Thanks Cas,” Dean grunted out, quickly glancing up at him, daring to drag his eyes from the woman in front of him for the first time. 

Their eyes locked and Cas was sure Dean would dismiss him, but the order never came. 

“Where are the others?” Dean practically growled.

Cas watched as the blonde turned her head to look at Charlie, Sam, and Dean in succession. She exhaled slowly. 

“I told you, there are no others.”

Dean sighed, as if he had been expecting that answer. 

He looked up at Castiel again, age beyond his years apparent in the bags under his eyes.

“Do you believe her?” Dean asked, and Charlie and Sam turned to Cas again.

Cas thought back, to the woman’s tremors, the anxiety in her voice, how her sharp ribs were when they had pressed against him. From what he understood, Roamers were generally well fed. Roamers always hunted in twos, yet no one had been on lookout, letting Cas just walk in on her. 

“I think she’s been abandoned,” Castiel said, at last. 

Dean nodded once, then turned to Sam. 

“What should we do with her?” 

“Well, we can’t let her go. If she’s been left by one group, she could easily link up with another. Share our camp’s location, and worse, expose the weakness in our defenses,” Sam said slowly.

“Should we kill her?” Charlie wondered, eyeing the marks on Dean’s face. “She could do more damage in here, than out there.” 

“No!” Sam and Castiel said at once. 

Dean looked sharply at both of them. Though holding a prisoner was certainly a new experience, displaying any sort of weakness in front of her was certainly against the soon-to-be-written protocol. 

Cas whipped his head down, suddenly sheepish, before saying, “She’s just scared. Her family left her.”

Sam straightened, pulling himself up so he looked eye to eye with Dean, using his height to muster up some authority to use against his older brother. 

“We aren’t going to kill her. She’ll stay in camp, on a trial basis, under constant guard. She’ll be my responsibility.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, his mouth opening and closing slightly, before setting his mouth in a hard line. Dean wanted what was best for camp. He wouldn’t fight Sam on his little power play. He wasn’t his father. Castiel knew Dean well enough to know he consciously separated himself from his father’s memory. Dean wouldn’t be John. 

“Ok.” 

Charlie looked at them like they were both insane, but acquiesced nonetheless. She walked out with a jaunty salute. 

“I’ll take the first watch,” Sam said, the bravado leaving his demeanor after his victory, gently prying the woman from the chair.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked, as he led her towards the door.

“Jess,” she said softly, the fight leaving her voice, as she allowed Sam to maneuver her out into the night.

Dean breathed out, the tense atmosphere of the room failing to dissipate, even after Jess’s departure. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said, absently touching the piece of skin where Jess’s knife had been.

“Did she hurt you?” Dean asked, suddenly crossing the room, lightly inspecting him. 

“I’m fine, Dean. But it looks like she seriously scratched you,” Cas said, reaching up to touch the angry red streaks across Dean’s face. 

Dean jerked back, his features almost indecipherable in the candle light.

Cas recoiled as if he had been burned, and stared firmly at his feet, “M’ sorry.”

“Don’t be, kid,” Dean said, already heading towards the door. 

Cas sunk on his bed, his face buried in his hands. After all that time and training, he was still weak. Still a liability. The reason Dean would probably have more scars on his face. He waited for it, but he didn’t hear the slam of the cabin door.

“Do you, uh, want me to stay here? Just for tonight?” Dean asked quickly, “In case she was lying, and more Roamers show up?” 

Castiel looked up and nodded rapidly. Dean sat heavily on the floor, and kicked off his boots.

“Actually uh, I don’t think Claire will be coming back tonight.”

“Oh. Good for them,” Dean said, before making his way over to Claire’s bed. 

Castiel jumped eagerly back onto his own mattress, and quietly snuffed out the candle. 

“Goodnight Dean,”

“Night Cas.”

For the first time in recent memory, Castiel slept through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr ! @writerposer


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel woke as the weak morning light pierced through the cloudy sky. He rolled over, and vainly tried to reclaim sleep. 

“Wake up buddy,” Castiel heard a familiar voice float through the mesh mosquito screen of the cabin. 

“Dean, I haven’t slept on a mattress in several years, please allow me to catch up on lost time,” Castiel grumbled. Not even Dean was exempt from his morning crankiness. 

“No can do, camp meeting.” 

Cas heard the cabin door creak open, and two strong hands were shaking him with as much care as someone like Dean Winchester could muster up, which wasn’t much. Castiel resisted valiantly, but eventually gave in. 

“I’m up, I’m up,” Cas puffed out, crawling out of bed. 

Castiel followed Dean out after only hurriedly slipping on his boots, one of the few advantages of sleeping in yesterday’s clothes. He stumbled down the driftwood steps, and followed Dean to the camp center, from which he fled not 12 hours ago in dismay. Dean strolled to the makeshift PA in the center of camp, and let out four short air horn blasts in rapid succession. Four meant non-emergency camp meeting, three meant medical emergency, usually a birth, two to announce Roamers, and one long blast for Croats. 

The camp rose slowly, ambling lazily to the center, half hungover, the other half still drunk. There were so few opportunities for joy, between the sunrise to sunset work of holding their small society together, any break tended to be embraced with over-indulgence. 

Cas fidgeted listlessly. He flitted about Dean, while everyone settled around them, before deciding to plop down a few feet from where Dean started to address the crowd. Castiel regretted his decision immediately, and he was so focused on his poor seating choice that he hardly listened to a word Dean had said. He managed to ascertain the content of the speech from the sudden outbreak of whispers in the crowd. Cas figured Dean was talking about the Roamer, Jessica. 

Dean held up his hands, attempting to placate the crowd. 

“She’s been through a lot. She’s a survivor. Here, you’re going to make her feel safe, end of discussion.” 

Dean dismissed the group with a simple wave, and turned on his heel, heading away from the discontent assembly. Cas sat uncomfortably in the dirt for a few moments more, until Dean looked over his shoulder, and cocked his head to the side. Cas scrambled to his feet, appearing at Dean’s side in an instant. 

Together, they strode past Dean’s own cabin, and stopped at Charlie’s. Dean pounded at the frame. 

Cas felt his face heat as his mind wandered to last night, the first and last time he would make the mistake of barging into Charlie’s room. He felt relief when Claire, fully clothed this time, answered the door. 

“I need Charlie,” Dean didn’t wait to be invited in, pushing past the girl, and Cas scurried in after him before Claire could stop them. 

Charlie was tugging on her boots, and didn’t bother looking up, only grunting to acknowledge Dean’s presence. 

“We’re going out on recon. Be ready in twenty.”

“Ha! I knew you didn’t trust her,” Charlie stuck a triumphant finger in Dean’s face.

“We’re just covering our bases. Be ready.” Dean raised himself to full height, but was rebuffed by a chuckle from Charlie. 

“Whatever, Dean.” 

Cas followed Dean out of the cabin, giving wordless farewells to Claire and Charlie.

Claire patted his head as he exited, and Cas felt a pang of longing. Though the initial outbreak marked the darkest period of his life, it was also the closest he had ever been to his family. Now that they were safe, well, as safe as anyone could ever feel in the new world order, he and Claire had drifted once more. Claire had someone, she had Charlie, she didn’t need Cas. And Cas didn’t have anybody.

Cas trailed behind his leader, feeling the stress radiate off of Dean. They approached one of the older cabins, which Castiel recognized as the one belonging to Benny. Dean rapped sharply on the doorframe, then stepped back carefully, in time for a tired Andrea to open up the door, glaring warily up at Dean. 

“Benny’s not working today. He’s hurt,” she said, before Dean could utter a word.

“Wh-” Dean started, but she cut him off again.

“The drunk idiot tripped and broke his thumb on the way back from _your_ party,” Andrea huffed out, her Greek accent never fading after all her years in the states. 

“Is it-” Dean managed before Andrea stopped him.

“It’s his right thumb, so don’t even think about taking him out now.”

The lump which occupied the unmade bed behind Andrea attempted to sit up. Thick arms struggled with the uneven quilt draped over the bed, scraps of cloth from here and there being shoved aside. 

“I’m fine, brother, just give me a minute to get dressed.” Benny warbled out, still clearly feeling last night, and Cas watched him flounder out of bed, avoiding putting any sort of pressure on his right hand. 

“Oh no you don’t mister,” The tiny woman pushed Benny back into bed, “You’re not going to leave me alone because you get taken by Croats after you can’t fire your stupid gun because you broke your stupid hand.” 

“Listen to the woman,” Dean called out, edging out of the creaking cabin before Andrea could rip into him next.

“Poor bastard,” Dean shook his head after they were out of earshot, “Now what the fuck am I gonna do. Sam’s busy with Jess, and honestly, I don’t there’s anyone else I trust with this.”

“You can trust me,” Cas said quietly, and Dean stopped in his tracks, almost causing Cas to bump into him. 

“You can’t come.” 

“Why not?” Cas said, regretting the petulance that creapt into his voice.

“Because Claire would kill me if something happened to you.”

“Nothings going to happen! You’ve been training me for almost a year, I think I can handle myself out there,” Cas crossed his arm. 

“It’s too dangerous, regardless.”

“You’d risk Benny and Charlie, but not me? It’d be more dangerous if just you and Charlie went anyway.”

“Then, then, I'll just bring Claire with us,” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Why not take me too?”

“Because Claire is eighteen, she can make her own decisions.”

Cas scoffed, and felt his face grow more red. Why couldn’t Dean see that he was old enough?

“Like the Roamers care how old she is. I’m a good shot, I’m here, I want to help. I can make this decision for myself, Dean. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t come.” 

Cas crossed his arms, trying desperately to not let Dean see him waver. 

* * *

Dean was still tempted to turn around. Every instinct he had screamed at him. How did Cas talk him into this shit? A hunting trip was one thing, they could still see the camp’s walls then. Now the gun cradled between Cas’s thighs looked too big for him. Dean forced himself to watch where he was going, following the sorry excuse for a road, while Cas scanned the countryside dutifully. How Cas had convinced him to let him come along, he’d never know. It was only a matter of time before he would have had to let the teen venture out further, and this was as safe as anything for a trial run. Just gauge the pack of Roamer’s distance from the camp and be done with it. Shit. He had to calm down. Charlie and Claire would take on the five miles east of the camp, leaving Dean and Cas the west. They were in a jeep, they were armed, this was routine, they would be fine. Cas would be fine. Dean kept repeating that mantra to himself, and he was just starting to believe it when the left front tire blew out. 

“Fuck,” Dean gripped the wheel tightly, as Cas clutched his seat desperately. 

The jeep careened to the side, approaching the edge of the valley three miles from camp. Dean wrestled for control of the jeep, but all hope was lost when the front right tire blew out too. The back two tires left the ground, and the jeep tumbled, front first, into the valley. The last thing Dean heard were Cas’s screams.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel could hear the confusing explosion of sounds surrounding him, but couldn’t open his eyes. His left leg was stiff, and felt numb, but that was preferable to how the rest of his body felt. His limbs screamed, his face felt sticky, and his mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood. His body had been forced upright, and a rigid metal surface cut into his shoulder blades. Without warning, the voices cut off, followed by a sharp slap to his face. His eyes snapped open, and he was face to face with a pale, angry brunette.

“Ooh, this one has pretty blue eyes,” she crooned cruelly. 

Cas averted his eyes, anything to escape her hungry gaze, and he caught sight of Dean. Dean looked back at him looking guilty, and defeated. Cas couldn’t bear that look, his eyes turning to their surroundings. The valley was teeming with life, forty, maybe fifty Roamers itching, scratching, undisciplined, waiting for something. A man broke from the throng, striding slowly until he stood in between Cas and Dean. 

“Hello, Boys.” 

Cas felt a chill go down his spine at that voice. It held the same perverted exuberance of the woman next to him. While both had possibly murderous intentions, it appeared as if the man in front of him would hesitate less to slice his throat. Though both seemed the type to play with their food. Blood was pooling in his ear canal, making him partially deaf from the left side. His left eye was also slowly swelling up, helping Cas figure out that it had only been a short time since the crash. 

The man was talking again, but Cas found it difficult to focus on his voice. His head was swimming. It was too loud, too bright, the noon heat beating down on the clearing. He passed out. 

“I don’t need a broken boy,” he heard the man say to some wretch beside him at some point after he came to. Suddenly Cas was jerked up, the metal post cutting cruelly into his back, before his bonds were cut. He couldn’t see his new captor, but he could hear their laugh, long and joyless, as Castiel struggled to his feet, only to crumple when he put pressure on his left leg. 

They picked him up from behind, making sure to drag his leg on the ground. Cas thrashed out, uselessly. They gripped him underneath his armpits, a twisted imitation of a parent carrying a fussy child.

He heard Dean cry out what Cas gathered was supposed to be his name, his voice rough as sandpaper, full of anguish. 

He couldn’t even twist his body, to give Dean one last glance, the blackness was coming over his vision once more. 

Cas awoke to a yellow grin. The man before him was tall, pale, and dirty. His grin was crooked. Cas could smell his breath from where he lay prostrate on the ground. The woman with the cruel mouth who liked his eyes was nowhere to be seen. He sensed he would have been better off with her, as miniscule as the improvement would have been. 

Cas tried to bring himself up to his arms. At least he wasn’t tied up anymore. He was thirsty, and the blood from his wounds was crusting over, all the areas of his body which he could feel were covered in his blood. He managed to push himself upright, pain shooting down his left side.

"You're alive!" The man before him exclaimed, and for the first time, Cas wished he weren’t. 

Castiel tried to stare the man in front of him down. That's what Dean would have done. It only made him laugh, a harsh, irritating sound. 

“So the little boy’s got an attitude?” The man got to his knees, and inched too close to Castiel’s face. 

“That’s alright,” he said, before pushing him back down, before pulling out a long knife, longer than Castiel’s face. 

The blade reflected off of the sun, now much lower in the sky. Cas couldn’t get enough leverage for a punch, couldn’t think, his head ached too much. He closed his eyes, thought of home, thought of Claire, thought of Dean. Anything but the monster in front of him. 

His ears registered the sound before the dead weight fell on him. Fresh blood seeped onto his shirt from the wound on the dirty man’s head. He was too numb to scream. 

“I’ve got you, Cas,” he heard his sister whisper in his ear, and he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming as the world went dark. 

He came to as his head continued to bump against the frame of the jeep. The sun was low in the sky. 

“Where’s Dean,” Castiel demanded, staring as hard as he could at the backs of the heads in front of him.

Charlie studiously ignored him, continuing to drive through the grasslands. 

“Where’s Dean,” Cas asked again, this time achingly moving his body to look at Claire, who had the decency to look away. 

“He was surrounded Cas,” Claire murmured, looking down at the ground. 

“You left him!” Cas’s voice broke, his throat aching painfully, but not as terribly as the knots in his stomach. 

“We saved you,” Charlie said sharply from the front. 

“We have to go back.”

“We’re going home,” Charlie gripped the wheel tighter, as if she feared Castiel would overpower her, even with his broken leg. 

“We’ll rescue Dean,” Claire said to Cas, her words empty. 

He didn’t know when he began to cry, but dry sobs wracked his entire body, each convulsion more painful than the last. 

“He needs me, he needs me,” Cas cried into his hands, and Charlie gripped the wheel harder. 

Within the hour it took to assemble a team and return to the Roamers site, they were gone, melted into the countryside. The next few days were filled with search parties and rumors of Dean’s betrayal, or death. 

Castiel slept in Dean’s cabin, leg propped, drowsy on some of the few painkillers the camp had in stock. Sam took over running the camp, and Claire took over the task of making sure no one slit Jess’s throat in the middle of the night. Charlie searched for Dean. And Cas slept. 

By the second month after Dean’s kidnapping, Cas could walk without help for the first time. Even though he could propel himself forward, it was as if his hips were uneven. Sam said he would never walk the same way again, but he’d survive. 

That’s all he could do in Croat-Ville, survive.


	11. Chapter 11

_Five Years Later_

Cas stared at the cracked wood ceiling. His hip acted up the most in the morning, and Castiel was having trouble willing himself to at least roll over. He fingered the coarse sheets beneath him, on the bed which hadn’t been ‘Dean’s bed’ for a long time. There had been a silent agreement between them, Sam doing his best to bury Dean’s memory, and Cas wishing to wallow in it. The switch had done both of them good, perhaps.

Three sharp raps on the doorframe forced Cas to sit himself up. He slipped carefully into his shoes, and walked with a slight limp towards the door. He swung the door open, an expectant Jess a few feet from him, holding the hand of a small child, with dark eyes and dark hair, bouncing on his feet. 

“It’s time for Junior’s lesson,” Jessica patted Benny’s son lightly on the back, who scampered delightedly past Castiel. 

“Thank you, Jess,” Cas rumbled, looking down at the woman before him. 

She nodded, turning her lips up in a quick smile, before scampering away. In the five years since she had shed her nomadic life, Jess had never lost her fierce and hurried way of moving. Cas turned his attention to the little boy bouncing around his cabin. 

Castiel didn’t do much fighting anymore. Charlie liked to tell him that in another life, he would have been the perfect soldier if it wasn’t for his leg, but only when she was drunk. He didn’t begrudge her for it. As is, Castiel managed fine with his hip, to the point where he forgot about it often, except for mornings like this. 

“C’mon Junior, we’re going to look at animal pictures.”

The boy jumped off of the bare mattress which used to belong to Sam, and trotted over to the desk which held the many books salvaged from what used to be an elementary school. It’s not like Cas liked living alone, but it seemed like every time someone moved into his bunk, they paired off with someone in camp and left to be with them. Overtime the camp grew and grew, and housing was no longer scarce. So Cas stayed alone, and used the other mattress for extra seating.

Castiel had become the unofficial schoolmaster, all kids from age 4 to 11 visiting his Cabin in blocks throughout the day. He took the older kids shooting, showed them which plants would kill them, how to sew up a leg, and all the other survival requirements. Those survival skills now involved exploring just what was beyond the camp walls into which many of them were born. Croats were simple to explain, ruthless rage monsters who could take them down with one bite. Roamers, simple enough as well, humans who chose not to settle down in a camp, choosing instead to wander and forage for survival. But then there were others, not quite men, not quite monsters. There were those who could harness some sort of evil energy, and manipulate others into doing their bidding. There were stories of men who could survive off of blood, and only blood, like the old vampires of myth. Most worrisome were the people who could change their faces, even their species, at will. The presence of Shifters made trusting people all the more difficult.

But he showed the babies pictures of animals, taught them how to read and write, even multiply. When the world came back, these kids would know how to rule it, if Cas had anything to do with it. 

All lessons ended by four, by Cas’s best estimation. Castiel dismissed his eldest student, Krissy, before heading down to the river. He kept himself strong mainly by swimming. Kevin, who had been studying to be a doctor in his other life, said Cas could retain almost perfect functioning of his hip so long as he didn’t quit. On a few occasions in the year following Dean’s disappearance, Kevin could be seen dragging Cas down to the river. 

That river used to run parallel to their border fence. In the intervening years, they had expanded their territory a few miles beyond it. 

An hour later, Cas trudged up from the riverbank, dragging on a pair of boxers hastily, as he passed Chuck and a few others doing laundry by the shore. While he had seen a decent amount of camp members embrace nudism, Cas wasn't quite there yet. He slipped into the rest of his clothing, pulling his shirt over his head, as he came up on the main part of camp. For once, he had absolutely nothing to do. Sam, Claire, and Charlie had all left early that morning, to check out a pack of Roamers on the outskirts of their territory. That meant Castiel had no one who outranked him left in Camp, meaning there was no one left to boss him around for the evening. 

The young man stopped ambling around the center of camp, choosing to stretch out against one of the logs used for meetings. He closed his eyes, ignoring the slight chill that passed through his body as the wind touched his wet clothes. Cas felt the beginning of sleep begin to take him, when a distant rumbling caught his ear. He pushed himself up onto his forearms, and saw the dust storm pick up behind the two cars racing quickly towards camp. 

Cas scrambled to his feet, as Charlie and Sam quickly rushed a hooded figure from their car into the hot-box, Claire following carefully with a shotgun. Cas jogged over, just as Sam shut himself away with the tall hooded figure.

“What’s going on?” Cas tried to walk closer to the old cabin, when Claire pressed a firm hand on his chest, pushing him back. He looked down at her.

“We, uh, found, something.”

Cas waited for her to complete her sentence, but she just looked down instead, placing her gun into the strap on her back. 

“Well, what is it?”

Claire moved her hand from Cas’s chest to his shoulder.

“I’m gonna need you to trust me, and not ask any more until I think you can know, can you do that?” 

“You’re talking to me like you did when we were lost,” Cas remarked quietly, and took a step away from the cabin.

Claire breathed out, and if it weren’t for the relief etched on her face, Cas would have followed through on his plan to just sneak around the back of the hot box. Just as Cas was turning to leave, Jess ran up to where they were standing. 

“Is Sam back?” she asked, her voice edged with worry. 

Claire gave her a curt nod, and her shoulders slumped in relief. 

“Did he f-” Jess started, before Claire cut her off.

“Maybe, we’ll know for sure soon-”

“Alright why am I the only one-” Cas started. 

“You’ll know when you know,” Claire cut Cas’s complaints off quickly.

Cas tried to raise himself up to full height, Claire herself squaring up. He could hear Sam and Charlie’s voices yelling from within, and he started toward the door when the hotbox door quietly swung open. 

Sam stepped out, the wide grin on his face belying the bags under his eyes, when his eyes fell on Cas. 

“Hey, come on in,” Sam made a wide sweeping gesture with his arms, the grin never leaving his face. 

Cas hesitated, looking quickly to Claire, who was suddenly smiling at him. 

She patted him quickly on the back, “Get on in there, kid.”

She propelled him further, and he slowly made his way into the cabin. 

He stepped into the room, looking down, almost afraid to look up. 

“Cas?” An achingly familiar voice called out. 

Cas’s head snapped up.

“Dean.”


	12. Chapter 12

Cas isn't sure who started for the other first. But suddenly he found himself wrapped in Dean's crushing embrace. Something crossed between a chuckle and a sob rumbled through Dean's chest. The man pulled back abruptly, looking down at Castiel, who felt instantly embarrassed for the tears streaming down his face. His discomfort boiled over into another sensation when Dean reached down to wipe away an errant tear.   
  
"Hey," Dean attempted casually.   
  
"I thought you were dead," Cas replied, his voice heavy with pointless grief.   
  
Pain flashed across Dean's face. Cas wanted to punch himself. He had had Dean back for less than a minute and he was already driving him away. Before Dean could reply, Cas closed the small distance which he had created and held Dean to him once more. The man came back willingly, and Cas buried his head on his shoulder.   
  
"You smell like crap," Cas whispered.   
  
"Sorry, forgot to stock up on cologne before the apocalypse."  
  
The tension in the room shattered as their giggles morphed into hysterics.   
  
Charlie walked back in just as their laughter died down, and promptly launched herself into Dean's arms. He scooped her up easily, and twirled her a little before setting the woman down. As soon as Charlie was put down, Cas heard the unmistakable heavy footsteps of Benny, charging up through the cabin doors. He too gripped Dean tight.   
  
"Good to have ya back, Brother."  
  
"Good to be back."  
  
And so it went for Claire, Chuck, Kevin, Garth, and a seemingly endless stream of revelers. Cas felt himself pushed off to the side slowly, until he was forced to sit on the bed shoved up in the corner. The hotbox became so full that Sam prudently began to herd everyone outside. People naturally centered around the meeting pit, and soon enough the sharp scent of bootleg whiskey hit the air. 

Benny and his band started up, and soon the entire camp was brimming with celebration. Kids were dancing around the edges of the celebration. They were too young to remember Dean, some born after he was taken, and no one liked to dwell on the past that much. Cas watched the party from the edge of camp near the children. He felt a sort of bile rise in his throat, as he watched Dean slip almost seamlessly into his old place, complete with a pretty girl in his lap. Cas found himself backing away, fleeing the all too familiar scene, when a hand stopped him. He looked back, and Claire was pulling insistently on his wrist. 

“Come, dance,” Claire said softly, while her iron grip pulled him towards the center, closer to the band. 

The music was an eclectic mix of southern jazz, swing, and rock, but Claire managed to move easily to the unrefined tones. Cas tried his best to mimic her, bopping along, most of his energy devoted to not watching for Dean. He threw himself into the music, until he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to be looking, and when he glanced at where the man was supposed to be, he couldn’t find him. Panic filled his chest, and he tried not to look too insane as he whipped his head back and forth looking for the man. 

"Can I cut in?" 

"Not with a line like that," Claire retorted, her hips never missing a beat as she spun off on her own, leaving Cas with Dean. 

Cas turned around, and avoided Dean’s gaze, suddenly shy. Dean picked up the beat easily, and Cas followed him awkwardly, a second behind his movements. Dean didn’t seem to mind, and from the few glimpses Cas took, Dean’s wide smile beamed back on him. As soon as Cas seemed to find his footing, the music faded and slowed, Benny’s guitar shifting from fast and upbeat to lazy and tender. Cas caught dance partners breaking apart and seeking new companions-- others drew in closer. 

In a twisted way, Cas first hoped that Dean would break away, seek someone else to draw close for the dance for the night. He wished Dean would just break his heart and be done with it. 

“If he leaves quickly enough, maybe I won’t even feel it,” Cas thought wryly, as Dean stopped dancing once the music shifted. 

The man paused, and Cas saw his flingers flex, and the near imperceptible flick of his eyes to their surroundings as Cas waited with his heart in his mouth. Then, he slowly reached out, and tugged Cas close. Cas tried to stifle his sigh of relief. 

“Is this ok?” Dean asked quietly, and all Cas could do was nod, unable to speak. Cas couldn’t track how long they stayed that way. He was barely aware of his surroundings, only aware of the man in front of him. 

So drunk off of Dean, Cas didn’t even notice the next song shift, until a quick cough to his left made him look up. Dean heard too, and looked almost startled to see Risa standing there, a smirk plastered on her face. 

“Can I get the next dance with the prodigal son?” 

Before Dean could answer, Cas nodded vigorously, and turned away. He didn’t look back as he made his way to his cabin, ignoring the errant looks he received from Charlie and Claire. He dove under his covers, struggling to catch his breath. He tried to stop his tears, which had been lying in wait since he first saw Dean, to no avail. Dean was back. He should be overjoyed. And he was. He felt like the part of him that died the day Dean disappeared had been resurrected.

And yet nothing had changed. Cas was still the stupid lovestruck kid who ran away every time Dean so much as looked at a woman and he hated himself for it. He hated that he couldn’t let his childhood crush, on a man that he knew for less than a year, go. He hated that Dean would never, and probably couldn’t ever, feel the same way. As soon as his breathing began to calm, Cas heard the door to his cabin open. 

“Go away, Claire,” Cas grumbled into his pillow. 

“First you ditch me on the dancefloor, then you kick me out of my own cabin? I thought you were happy to see me,” Dean said, his voice light. 

Cas sat straight up in bed, his hair standing up easily. Dean moved easily past his old belongings, which Cas hadn’t dared to touch, picking out a couple of old candles and a matchbook from his trunk. 

“You know, when you ran off, first I went to the cabin I actually  _ made _ for you and your sister,” he said easily, as he lit the match, briefly illuminating his face before setting it to the candle.

“And I was treated to the sight of my brother’s bare ass. I panicked for a quick minute, but then realized he was with that Roamer girl, Jess? Well I guess she ain’t a Roamer anymore, considering she stuck around like you two thought.” 

Dean placed the first lit candle on his trunk, to the left of Cas’s bed, and set about lighting the second one. 

“So after I was scarred, he sent me back over here, said you holed up in here right after I was taken.”

Dean placed a second candle on the trunk where Cas kept all his things hidden away. 

“So that makes us roommates, I guess-" 

"I can move," Cas started quickly. 

Dean put a hand on Cas's shoulder, "I don't want you to move."

Cas's breathing finally slowed, and he hoped that the candle light was dull enough to hide his tears. Dean planted himself carefully at the foot of his old bed. 

"Cas, I'm gonna need you to stop crying," Dean said slowly.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Cas manically began to scrub at his face. 

"Hey, stop that," Dean gently grabbed Cas's wrists, before he could inflict any permanent damage to his eyes. 

Cas nodded, and Dean lowered his hands, but did not let go of his wrists. His voice dipped lower than before, and Dean absently rubbed circles into the top of Cas's wrists, as he took a deep breath in. Dean met Cas's eyes, and enunciated slowly. 

"I know how to end this," Dean said confidently. 

Cas stared back in confusion. 

"What?"

"I know how to save the world."

  
  


Cas squinted at Dean in the dark. By the flickering candlelight, he searched Dean for any sign of mania, any hint that his five years in the proverbial wilderness left a mental scar deeper than he originally feared. 

“What?” he repeated himself.

“What I mean is,” Dean looked down to where his hands still gripped Cas’s, “I met people, when I was, was away. They know how to destroy the Croat-Virus, or rather, they think they have one possible avenue for containing the virus, maybe.”

Cas tried to follow Dean’s halting speech. His words carried no false promises of some lost utopia. From his memories of Dean, to which Cas’s grip slowly weakened over his absence, the man was not in the business of false hope. 

“Who are these people, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes found his again, and Cas could barely make out the smile that grew on his face. 

“We can meet them in two days time,” Dean began hurriedly, “We’d have to leave before light.”

Dean unconsciously tightened his grip on Cas’s hands as his words quickened.

“I can’t wait for you to meet them, they’re the reason I survived, how I escaped Roamers, how I found Sammy again, how I kept sane.”

His voice lowered on the word ‘sane’, almost to a whisper. Castiel didn’t have to strain to hear him, he could practically feel Dean’s breath, warm on his face. As Cas drew up his legs to make room for Dean, the man had inched closer throughout their conversation. 

“Do you want to meet them Cas?” Dean asked quietly, almost as an afterthought. 

Cas didn’t have to think before agreeing. If these people mean all this to Dean, then surely they were worth a meeting. 

“Of course, Dean.”

“Awesome.” 

There was a pause, and before Dean quickly stood up, jumping out of Castiel’s space as if he’d been stung. Dean must have realized how closely they were sitting, how tightly he was holding Cas’s hands. That thought made Castiel’s stomach turn, and he tried not to feel hurt as Dean awkwardly meandered over to the bed on the other side of the room, quickly snatching up a blanket which one of Cas’s charges must have left on the floor. He snuffed out the candle on the trunk before arranging himself in bed.

“Goodnight,” Dean called, not even turning around.

“Night.” 

Cas leaned over and pinched the wick on the candle, plunging them both in darkness.

###  ~~

Dean carefully padded over to the other side of the room, and settled himself on the bare mattress. He kicked up a fair amount of dust, when his head hit the pillow, but stifled his cough, calling out a quick “Goodnight.”

Sleeping in a bed was weird. The permanent soars on his back either came from him either camping out in the RV, abandoned buildings, or the good ol’ ground cried out in relief as he stretched on the thin mattress. He focused on the stretch, the softness, anything but the  _ boy  _ pretending to sleep across the room. 

Dean felt guilt well up in his belly, as his brain catalogued all the ways he overstepped his bounds with Cas. It didn’t matter that he shot up what seemed like 5 inches in as many years. Even if he was, what, twenty one now? Dean hadn’t been keeping track. All the years apart just hit him at once when he saw the kid, no, the man, in the cabin that afternoon. Still. Sitting on Cas’s bed and mooning over him was not ok. Even if that bed used to be his bed. 

He tried to find rest, but when that failed, he settled for listening. He heard the shouts of ecstasy from his return party, still going strong even after he left. If he listened hard enough, he could pick up the voices of individuals, some he recognized, some he didn’t. New were the voices of children, babies crying as their mothers carried them away, kids running around the cabins, their laughter carrying through the mesh window. The most comforting sound, naturally, were the soft snores, lazily drifting over to him from Cas’s bed. 

Dean sighed, content, for the first time in years. There was a time when he thought his camp, his family, had all been destroyed. That everything he and Sam had worked to build following the outbreak had died in smoke and blood. But it was all still here, Hell, it grew in his time away. A new generation could  _ grow _ here.

Dean flopped over onto his side, daring to look across the room. He couldn’t see Cas’s face through the darkness. He could barely make out his silhouette. Dean would make the world for those children outside. He would make a world where Cas could be safe.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean tried to be as quiet as possible while he rooted around the cabin. His dad’s journals had to be here somewhere, and they could hold the key to this whole mess. Searching through the stacks of books Cas had piled up, he found stacks of children’s drawings, math worksheets, history lessons. Dean felt a mix of pride and shame swell in his chest. A new generation had sprouted here, without him. Hell, if he had stuck around for longer, a kid who looked a lot like him would probably be running around out there. Well, considering how he got around before, maybe a couple kids who looked like him. 

At the bottom of the stack, he found one of John’s journals, carefully annotated in handwriting that wasn’t his. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Dean jumped at the voice, he didn’t realize Cas was awake.

“Sam said it was ok if I used the journals to teach from, and I tried to make all the marks in pencil, but I should have known better,” he said, looking down. 

“Don’t worry about it buddy, I just need these back now,” Dean said, smiling at Cas’s relieved expression. 

That morning, Cas took Dean on a long walk around the compound, catching him up on all the ways they’ve expanded. The gardens had grown into orchards and acres of farmland just outside the gates. They grew hemp and used it to make clothes and rope. They rotated crops. They raised livestock. Cas’s beehive had grown into a whole colony.

Their tech had increased too. They couldn’t do anything about the bullet shortage, but the high powered bows and arrows took down croats just as well. What was once a few jeeps expanded into a fleet of vehicles. Apparently Claire was quite the mechanic, and had been working on converting the engines to run on electricity with some of the other residents. 

  
  
  


“And then, like just a few months ago Charlie finished making the functioning electricity generator using the river water, so we can charge up the cars. We don’t have other uses for the excess yet, but Sam thinks that we could maybe start wiring the cabins. The first time we tried that with just a battery generator, we almost set it on fire, which was not a good day,” Cas rambled. 

Dean tried to take it all in. He wanted to think of the camp as his legacy, but five years without him, they were just, fine. Better even. Because of Sam. Because of Charlie, and because of Claire. Because of Cas.

“Thanks for the tour,” Dean said, and Cas looked up at him with so much hope it hurt to look at him.

“I gotta go talk to Sammy about something,” Dean said, and quickly sought out his brother, leaving Cas standing by the river. 

When he found Sammy in his cabin, blessedly clothed this time, the two strolled out to the perimeter fence.

“I’ve really missed you,” Dean breathed out, feeling himself deflate. 

“I’ve missed you too Dean. I never stopped looking,” Sam said, grabbing him by the shoulder.

The two men stood in silence for a while, before Dean asked the question that was burning a hole in his stomach.

“Have you thought about what I asked?”

Sam smiled, but couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes. 

“Dean, I believe you think you can stop this. Stop everything. But, it’s a suicide mission. And we’ve been on a few of those before, but, I just can’t this time.”

Dean tried to hide his hurt, but what came out was a bark of anger, “What’s more important than this? You’re gonna let me go it alone?”

“Jess’s pregnant.”

Dean looked down, shame and anger mixing inside of him. 

“Congratulations.”

“You don’t have to leave again,” Sam grabbed Dean’s hands, “You can meet my kid, you can have some on your own. It’s not perfect here, I know that, but it’s life. We’re making it work. Stay.”

Dean shook his head. 

“I’m proud of you, I’m happy for you, but I gotta try, whether you’re with me, or not.” 

Sam’s face grew dark, and the brothers walked back to camp, trapped by silence. Someone had started another bonfire, but there was no music this time. Sam sat down, and Dean plopped next to him, staring out at the folks meandering around. There was Charlie, huddled with Claire. And Benny, shit, playing with his son, Andrea looking on proudly. Everyone had moved on.

“You know who’ll say yes,” Sam said quietly.

“I can’t ask that of him,” Dean said, and stood himself up before Sam could keep talking. 

Dean drifted around the fire, saying goodbye to who he needed to, not bothering with the new faces. Of course he knew Cas would say yes. Even after all this time, he saw it on his face, his big hopeful eyes. He can’t ask Cas to throw his life away after he just finished building it. One day, one of those little kids dancing around the fire could have black hair and blue eyes and speak like they swallowed a thesaurus. And if Cas comes with him, that kid is gone. 

Soon the fire died down. The kids dragged themselves to bed. Dean took a reluctant last loop around the camp, and then took himself back to the cabin, where Cas was pretending to sleep. He was being selfish. Beyond selfish. Lower than scum. He tried to sleep. 

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	14. Chapter 14

_ They flew around another sharp corner, and Cas gripped the armrests tightly. He tried to shout at Dean to slow down, but his cries were drowned out by the harsh sound of metal on concrete, as the jeep scraped along the banister of the stairwell. Cas felt every bump on every step as they made their way for the door. He could see the Croats chasing them down in the rearview.  _

_He had to shield his eyes once they made their break from the building. Dean’s foot never left the accelerator, and when Cas turned again, to ask him to please slow down, he saw two Croats, waiting in their back seat. One had its arms wrapped around Dean’s, controlling the steering. The other had his hands on Cas’s throat, stopping his screams._ _He managed to turn around, just in time to see the car drive over the cliff’s edge. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream with the hands wrapped around his throat. He looked to his left again, and Dean was gone, a Croat in his place. Cas closed his eyes, waiting for the Jeep to kiss the ground-_

“Cas, buddy, it’s time to go.” 

Cas opened his eyes wearily, scanning the face above him in the dark. 

“Dean?” 

Dean just extended a quick hand and hauled him up. 

Cas allowed himself to be pulled from bed. He didn’t bother changing his clothes, only slipping on his boots. Dean was waiting by the door, patiently holding it open. With a few minutes to clear his mind, his heart caught up to his brain.  _ Dean was here _ . Taking him on a secret mission to save the world. The fanboy part of Cas was jumping up and down. He tried to play it cool as he brushed past Dean, but ended up stumbling down the cabin steps. He landed awkwardly on his feet. He stalked ahead, ignoring Dean’s soft chuckle behind him. 

The pair quietly picked their way to the main gate. Even in the dark, there was no mistaking Sam’s gargantuan form, pressed up against the Jeep. As they drew closer, Cas could make out Charlie and Claire as well, huddled up in the cold night. 

Sam silently held the keys out, and Dean pocketed them quickly. Cas walked around to the side of the car, catching their crushing embrace from the corner of his eye. Claire slipped around to Cas. 

“Good luck out there,” Claire whispered.

Cas squinted at her in the dark. He didn’t like the fear in her voice. 

“I’ll be home soon,” Cas whispered back, before the Jeep roared to life next to him. The engine was deafening in the still of the night. 

Claire pulled him tightly against her, “You better be, stupid.”

“Yeah, I love you too,” Cas leaned into her embrace. 

Claire broke first, walking away without looking back. Cas turned and let himself into the Jeep. 

“- just don’t be stupid,” Charlie finished, quickly leaning into the window to give Dean a kiss on the cheek. 

She pointed her finger over at Cas, “That goes double for you.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but still gave Charlie a warm smile, before she pulled her head out.

Dean carefully let the car roll out of camp, with as much secrecy as the hour and activity would allow. Cas fiddled with his clothes while they rode in silence. What happened at the main gate felt too much like goodbye. Cas had spent the last five years dreaming of Dean’s return, but as they trundled out into the night, Cas found himself without words. He kept just, staring at Dean, alive,  _ alive _ . The man was tense, glancing at Cas every few minutes, scanning the horizon, but when had he ever known Dean relaxed? He had always been tightly wound, the weight of their survival on his shoulders. Who knows what he saw out there, and why he believes it could end. 

Soon, as the sun crept over the desolate horizon, a beat up RV came into sight.

They came to a stop about 30 feet away from its door, from which a grizzled, older man looked out. Dean stepped quietly out of the car, and Castiel tried to follow his lead, pushing his sleeves up to expose his forearms. They approached slowly, the man coming out to meet them halfway. The man carefully brought the knife down, the small cut he made on Dean’s arm parallel to a freshly healed one. The knife test was crude, but quick. Dean didn’t even flinch, moving only to cover his arm again after. Cas held his own arm out, clenching his teeth as the metal kissed his skin. 

“By the look of you, I'd say you’re Cas,” The man said, slipping his knife into the back pocket of his jeans. 

“This is Bobby, and they,” Dean pointed to the two women exiting the RV, “are Ellen and Jo.” 

Cas waved awkwardly to the pair. The older of the two, whom Cas took to be Ellen, gave him a slight nod, but Jo actually gave him a stiff smile. 

“Now what exactly is he doing here?” Ellen spoke directly to Dean.

“I just wanted him to meet the people that saved my life, before we take off,” Dean said, though uncertainty was creeping into his voice. 

“What?” Cas wheeled on Dean, “You’re leaving? Again?”

Cas worked hard to keep the squeak out of his voice, but he was too distraught for it to be helped. Dean raised his hands, in some sort of weak placating gesture. The sight of Dean looking down at him, with what seemed too close to pity overwhelmed him. His shock turned to rage. 

“You can’t be  _ fucking serious _ !” Cas shouted, ignoring the stares he was getting from Dean’s friends. 

Dean at least had the decency to look shocked.

  
  


“You just came back, and now you’re leaving me again!” Cas was too angry to cry. He felt almost tempted to take a swing at Dean’s stupid face, just for the satisfaction of shocking the man for once. 

“Cas, I-”

“You knew you weren’t staying, this  _ entire  _ time, and- and Sam and Charlie, and Claire were in on it too!” Cas fought the shrillness seeping into his voice. 

“I just thought-”

“Thought that you could just waltz in and waltz out and everyone would just be  _ fine _ ?”

Cas stopped himself, not trusting himself to go on. He wasn’t sure for how much longer he would be able to stifle his tears. 

“Cas, I just, needed to say goodbye. This mission, it changes the future of mankind  _ itself _ . I have to at least see it through. Please, tell me you understand.” 

Castiel could hear the guilt in Dean’s voice, and he decided to latch onto it with all he had. 

“Oh, I understand. That’s why I'm coming with you,” Cas spoke quietly, hoping that he looked serious. 

Dean recoiled, instantly growling out, “No.”

Cas squared his feet, crossed his arms, and spoke calmly, “Give me one good reason as to why I can’t.”

Dean looked over to Bobby in panic, who simply shrugged, before looking back at Castiel. 

“You’re too, too-”

“In the five years you’ve been gone, I have been training and learning-”

“What about your leg?” Dean bit out.

Cas balked slightly, he was afraid that Dean would go there.

“I’ve been able to keep up with anybody at camp, despite my injury-”

“You can’t come and that’s final,” Dean tried to put his foot down, but Castiel matched his glare. 

“I’m not some kid you can boss around anym-”

“Boys,” Ellen called out carefully, “Let’s move this conversation somewhere else.”

She lowered the binoculars from her eyes, “We’ve got company.”

Cas whipped his head around, and from the distant city he could see what looked like a whole pack of Croats, running full tilt towards the group. From the look of them, they were freshly turned. The newer ones always ran the fastest.

Bobby, Ellen, and Jo retreated to the RV, while Dean and Cas hopped in the Jeep. WIthout being told, Cas reached into the backseat, retrieving the rifle stashed there. While Dean started the car and tore after Ellen and Bobby, Cas carefully took the weapon in hand. He leaned up through the roof, and took a few careful shots, managing to take out the lead Croat on his second try. After a few more shots, the Croats in the back stumbled over the bodies of the frontrunners. Cas smirked, squeezing out a few more shots, before lowering himself back into his seat. 

Dean sped up once Cas was secure, until he was parallel with the RV’s window. 

Bobby leaned out, and let out a long whistle, which cut straight through the wind. 

“Boy, you sure can shoot,” Bobby said. 

Cas beamed, even after Dean pulled away, until he was in front of the RV. 

“We aren’t done discussing this,” Dean grumbled, as they sped further and further away from camp. 

“Sure, Dean,” Cas replied smugly. 


	15. Chapter 15

Dean watched out his window as the sparse grass and dirt gave way to rolling hills. The hollow shells which used to be family homes dotted the landscape, some virtually intact, while others lay completely stripped. 

"Kevin was thinking about practicing terrace farming along these hills," Cas spoke softly, tentatively touching the thick silence which had fallen between them. 

"Maybe you can help him out when I take you back," Dean spoke without looking over. 

“Dean-” 

The man cut off the beginnings of a whine with a dismissive hand gesture. It had been stupid, and if he were to have a rare moment of honesty with himself, selfish too, of him to ask Castiel to see him off. He should have asked literally anyone else to see him off. And he expected Cas to drive back alone? Without a gunner with him? Selfish. Stupid. He glanced over, almost hoping to see the lanky man pouting next to him. Any kid-ish behavior would make it easier to send him away again. But no, Castiel was sitting up, arms carefully cradling his gun, staring at the road ahead. He couldn’t help but think back to the first time they rode together, when Cas’s eyes were too big for his face, as out of place as the gun in his lanky fingers. Now, he was self assured, as comfortable as one could be under the constant threat of frenzied mutants. 

“Don’t you have, like, responsibilities back home?” Dean tried.

He heard a small sigh, and felt some fleeting sense of victory.

“I will miss the children, however Jessica is more than apt to take my place as teacher.”

“Okay, strike one,” Dean thought.

“You can’t honestly be comfortable with risking your life for a mission you know nothing about and people you just met,” he wagered.

Silence fell upon the car, before Castiel spoke again. 

“I know you, and I know you believe in whatever this is.”

“And that’s enough for you?” Dean tried to keep his voice even, channeling ‘concerned authority’ voice.

“Of course,” Castiel said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

The weird sense of pride which had sprung up in Dean’s chest was soon replaced with panic. He hardly knew what he was doing half of the time, it would be downright criminal to let someone else follow him blindly. 

Dean continued to stare at the road, occasionally glancing at the RV in his rearview. He was stalling, and he could see the knowing smirk on Castiel’s face. He saw Dean was at the end of his rope. 

“Won’t you miss everyone?” Dean went for a cheap shot, “The camp is your family, you can’t abandon family.”

Dean saw Castiel’s jaw clench, while trying not to notice the shadow of stubble, knowing he struck a nerve. He inwardly cringed at his next words, but he ground them out the same. 

“Don’t you have someone you love?”

If Cas had been tense before, he was a block of ice now. Dean bit his tongue, to keep from apologizing. As much as the boy’s pain hurt him, he knew this was the only sane option. 

“Amelia will be fine,” Cas bit out.

Cas hadn’t introduced them when they were at camp, hadn’t even mentioned her. Dean knew he was fucking up her life. He wondered if Cas had even said goodbye to her. Had even thought about her when he got into the jeep with Dean, speeding off to God knows. 

“You knew I would stay with you. You always knew. Don’t act as if my devotion is a surprise,” Cas said, but there wasn’t any anger in his voice. He saw through Dean.  
“You know I couldn’t stay, Cas,” Dean felt a whine of his own creep into his voice, even taking his eyes off the road to plead. 

“And you know that I’m not going home without you,” Cas didn’t need to cross his arms to make his point. Dean already knew he had lost. 

He didn’t know what upset him more, that Cas had outwilled him, or that his anxiety over Cas staying felt a lot like elation. 

\----

Hours later, the RV let out three honks, and Dean slowly pulled over. The afternoon sun was slowly reddening, its rays gently bleeding on the horizon. Despite the tension of the morning, Castiel was surprised how soon things could return to whatever could be considered normal between him and Dean. They talked about nothing for the hours they spent driving, both too hesitant to bring up something heavy, and Cas even managed to eke a laugh out of Dean, albeit only after he messed up the punchline to one of Claire’s old jokes. 

By the time Dean pulled off the road, the two had fallen into an easy silence after a dismal game of eye spy. (“I spy with my little eye-” “Dirt?” “Yeah, dirt,”).  
Cas tried to tamp down his anxiety when Dean pulled his keys out of the ignition, and followed him out of the car. 

Dean knocked on the door in 3 short raps, and the door swung out easily. Jo leaned against the cabinet in the walkway, her arms crossed. Dean pushed past the girl, leaving Cas to squeeze through. Though Jo granted him what seemed like a solitary inch of space, he managed to make it past her, and take a spot next to Dean, who had parked across from Ellen. 

He warily cast his eye around the cabin, avoiding Ellen’s hawkish gaze, taking in the makeshift armory which seemed to take up the entire opposite wall. Bobby was nowhere to be seen, and while Cas attempted to study the veritable science lab in the back of the relatively crummy vehicle, he was drawn back by Ellen’s voice.

“-so you didn’t manage to shake him?”

“Nah, he refused to be White-Fanged,” Dean said with a shrug, leaning back against the cheap patterned fabric of the bench. 

“I figured as much,” Bobby emerged from the back, holding his nose, followed by a man whose face is covered in what looked like a hockey mask made out of an old walmart bag, with the longest hair Cas had seen since the outbreak. The man pulled down his mask, and grinned at him. 

“You the new recruit?”

“I guess so-”

“Sweet,” the man deposited himself on the couch opposite them. As soon as he landed close enough, Ellen’s nose wrinkled, and she got up and followed Bobby to the driver’s compartment to flee the stench. 

“Ash, this is Castiel. Cas, Ash.” 

Ash stuck out a gloved hand, before quickly retracting it to shuck off the glove. Cas took the proffered hand cautiously. 

“What the hell am I smelling,” Cas only managed to hold his tongue for the amount of time it took for Ash to sit back. 

“That, my dear, is the salvation of the Earth as we know it,” Ash smirked, “Or a horrible waste of time which will end up killing us all. Hopefully the former.” 

“And it’s in this man whom we’ve put our trust?” Cas turned to look over at Dean.

“Well, him and Ellen. They both worked over at Roman Enterprises before the outbreak,” Dean explained. Cas nodded, he remembered vaguely that Roman Enterprises was some sort of biotech firm. 

“Bobby’s her crazy survivalist husband, and Jo is her crazy marksman daughter,” Dean stage whispered, as Ash’s eyes narrowed.

Ash cleared his throat, “As I was saying, in the back of this very RV we are close to nullifying the very Croatoan virus which currently ravishes our very wonderful planet.”

“Wait, a cure?” Cas leaned forward, all his attention zeroed upon Ash. He couldn’t help but think of the siblings he was forced to leave behind. His old friends, his neighbors. His parents. 

“Stop right there bud, this ain’t an antidote, just a vaccine,” Ash’s voice felt like an ice bucket. 

Of course there was no way to bring his family back. Despite himself, Cas felt the disappointment rip through him. He barely registered Dean’s warm hand on his back. 

Ash continued, but the bravado had quietly dissipated, “This would prevent anyone else from getting infected. And maybe, maybe, it could prevent someone who had just been bitten from turning full Croat, but that isn’t something we’re willing to test.”

“So,” Cas began, grateful that no one commented on the crack in his voice, “It’s like an anti-virus?”

“Well, there really is no such thing. The whole “virus” terminology when describing the outbreak is really a misnomer-”

“Skip to the part we can understand,” Dean cut Ash off, his hand still firmly on Cas’s back. 

“Fine. What we’re cooking up back there should prevent Croat-ness, if we get all of our ingredients.”

“How do you even know it’ll work?” 

Cas trusted Dean, more than the man would probably ever know, but putting his life on the line for a tiny vaccine concocted from the back of a moving vehicle tested that faith. 

“Ah, this is the interesting part-”

“By interesting, I hope you mean incredibly twisted,” Ellen strode back into the room, and made room for herself beside Ash. 

“It’s not every day you can point out a super villain, Ellen,” Ash tosses back, but quiets under Ellen’s gaze. 

The same killer gaze fell upon Cas, and he tried not to squirm. 

“Richard Roman killed the world.”

\----------------

Dean watched as Ellen gave Cas the rundown, about the secret projects and commissions that Roman personally ordered from his pharmaceutical firm, years before the outbreak. About the massive firings which took place after each ‘experimental’ round of trials. Ellen, a rising star at the firm, smelled something wrong, but didn’t trust any of her superiors enough to confront someone. Ash found her rummaging around IT past midnight, still searching for clues. Together, they discovered the grainy footage of the first human ‘trial’ for Roman Enterprises latest secret undertaking. Buried deep in the company’s intranet were hundreds upon hundreds of hours of footage; former colleagues, random civilians, fucking children, could be seen slowly transforming into monsters. 

The deeper they went the worse things they found. Ash, through some technical genius and mission-impossible style scheming, accessed Roman’s private email server. Working with someone who could only be identified as “Mr. L”, Roman planned on deploying his bio-terrorist zombie bug on the world, the only thing missing was the date and method. Before the two could go public with what little information they had, the first signs of a new “superbug” were seen in New York City, ripping through housing projects, then schools and hospitals. Soon it was hopping state lines, and before long, international waters. 

“At least we had the damn sense to pack up when we did,” Ellen voiced quietly, while Cas mulled over her words, picking at his jacket. 

“We, that being Bobby, Jo, Ash, and I, chartered a plane to the Arctic, stayed with an old buddy of Bobby’s.”

“Why would you ever come back?” Cas finally looked up. 

“Because amidst the cover ups, half-finished manifestos, and Frankenstein Jr. experiments,” Ash spoke again, “We found the antidote.”

“And now all we need to do is finish the formula, and find some way to distribute it,” Bobby spoke up, leaning against the doorway. 

“Which is where John’s journals come in,” Dean said, “He took a lot of notes about this kinda experimentation before he died.”

Cas nodded, more to himself than the room. 

“Are you still with us?” Dean asked. 

“Always.”


	16. Chapter 16

Castiel started when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

“Wake up, buddy, we’re here.”

Cas straightened up, his spine protesting as he separated himself from the indent he had made on the Jeep’s leather seating. Peering over the dashboard, his swept the landscape, now drenched in a cool blue in the twilight. While he had been asleep, they had left the empty suburbs behind, and made it out into what Cas figured was farmland. The fields were overgrown, and wild cows grazed. An old silo lay at the head of an abandoned field, an anchor in a sea of tall weeds.

“Where’s here?” He muttered, as Dean hopped out of the car.

Cas followed suit, vaguely registering the clamor from the RV as the rest of their clan filed out. His eyes followed Dean’s fleeting figure, which slipped behind a grassy hill, over which an old silo rose up.

“Pick up your feet, boy,” he heard Ellen call, as she jogged past him. Cas reluctantly picked up the pace, ignoring the pain in his hip from being cramped for so long. He rounded the hill just in time to see Ellen disappear into the rusted out silo.

Cas hurried in behind her, nearly tripping down the long flight of midnight black steps, which twisted their way downwards. He turned around to see Bobby and Ash slowly hauling a thick steel trunk towards the door, with Jo trailing casually behind.

“Get on down there,” Bobby grunted.

He started his descent, gripping the railing tightly. WHen he reached the bottom, Ellen nodded at him, holding the heavy door at the end open. Warm lighting filtered out, and Cas squinted at Dean, who held his arms wide.

“Welcome to the Bunker.”

Cas tried not to gawk. High ornate ceilings, stacks of books, and honest-to-God air conditioning.

“The lights haven’t conked out yet, so whatever these freaky Men of Letters used seems solid,” Dean patted the machine affectionately.

Dean took Cas on a quick tour, past the private generators that ran on some weird fuel that smelled like the inside of a freezer, but never seemed to need replacing. Cas breathed in. The air outside was fresher these days, but he never thought he would experience recycled air again. Around them, Bobby and Ellen were hauling in more canned food.

“Hungry?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded mutely, afraid that he would wake up from whatever dream he was in.

“So,” Cas spoke between bites, “You never told me how you escaped.”

“Oh,” Dean put down his canned apple pie filling, “It’s not that glamorous of a story,”

Cas simply put another spoonful in his mouth, and waited patiently. Bobby, Jo, Ash and Ellen were off somewhere, something about finishing out an impromptu poker game, leaving Cas and Dean to eat in the tiny kitchen.

“Alright, just stop looking at me like that,” Dean warned, looking down.  
“Like what?”

“Just, quit it. Or I won’t be able to say the whole thing.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but waved Dean on.

_Five years ago_

_For the first couple weeks that he was away, Dean spent nearly every moment in the murky darkness of a burlap bag, tied off at his neck. He had managed to keep the time by judging if the darkness was a little more absolute than normal, for how long he was forced to march, by how loud the people around him were, but soon he gave up. There had been no point, nothing to truly break the monotony. He was fed whenever they remembered to feed him, he slept whenever his body hit the ground, and he woke when they dragged him up._

_Today they decided to prop him up on a tree, one of the few that could survive in this part of the country, which was more like a desert than anything._

_“When are you gonna decide what to do with him?” he could hear that woman, Meg, angrily whisper._

_“I’ll deal with him in my own time,” He heard that smarmy voice reply, belonging to the apparent leader, Crowley._

_Every day the pair had the same argument, and every day Crowley gave the same answer. Dean couldn't help but feel like the cabin boy for the Dread Pirate Roberts. That day was no different._

_"He's useless tied up, and he's dangerous set loose," Meg snarled, "Just admit you're at a loss, and let me take the ken doll. I already lost the other toy. Let me have this one."_

_That was Dean's one consolation. Even if he was screwed, Cas got away. Safe, as safe as one could be, anyway, and free from the series of increasingly shitty events that seemed to govern Dean's life._

_"We're gonna have to move on soon, anyway, these houses are completely stripped- oh fuck," Meg's voice trailed off, causing Dean to perk up his head. He had taken to feigning sleep, that made it easier to snoop._

_He heard the scramble of feet, Crowley presumably jumping off of whatever tree stump he had declared his throne._

_"Abaddon."_

_A veritable stampede surrounded Dean, who was forced to lie down, prone, with his hands and feet tied. After about 5 minutes of people skirting around him, the dust from their boots filtering into the bag on his head, disrupting his breathing. He couldn't hear Meg, or Crowley, nothing but the frantic, yet somehow controlled rush of the Roamers around him. That was before the bullets started flying._

_Dean could hear the agonized cries, one too close for his own liking. He could feel the hard thump of a body, falling to the ground, just to his left. He could hear it's final spasms. He knew, without a doubt, that Crowley would leave him here to die. Whoever this Abaddon person was had scared him enough to pack up his camp. He wouldn't be stopping to pick up his pet while his house burned down._

_The first order of business would be to get the fucking bag off of his head. Bound hands and feet, sure, but running blindly through a warzone? Impossible. He rocked himself to the side, inching toward where he heard that body fall. He reached it, then set about the grim task of searching it. Awkwardly, he sidled up to the corpse-_

"I'd rather not go into detail about what happened next," Dean stopped his tale, taking in Castiel's rapt, yet slightly ill expression.

"Let's just say, I got the dude's knife."

_He inched his way back to safety, feeling his way back to the tree. Dean secured his grip on the knife, carefully beginning to saw at the rope tying his hands, praying he didn't accidentally slit his wrists in the process. Once he freed his hands, he tore at the burlap sack over his face, with what was probably more force than necessary. Despite getting a few glimpses of pure light if whatever sap tasked with feeding him pulled up his bag too far, Dean had to take a few minutes for his eyes to adjust. He set about freeing his legs, refusing to glance over at the body a few feet over._

_The sounds of gunfire were dying down, the fight shifting further and further away. Dean stood independently for the first time in weeks. He stretched, and tried to get his bearings. He only took a minute, stooping down to pick up the fallen handgun, discarded to the side of the corpse, before taking off in the opposite direction. Straight to the desert._

_"Wait a fucking minute," Castiel interrupted, putting down his now empty can of filling._

_Dean paused._   
_"You mean to tell me that you escaped within a matter of weeks? You were gone for five years! How could-"_

_Dean put both of his hands firmly on the shoulders of the now standing man, trying to avert one of his righteous furies._

_"Sit down, and let me finish."_

_Dean struck out straight for the desert. He knew it was suicide. He hadn't had anything to drink in at least 12 hours, whenever the last time someone felt like dribbling some water into his mouth, and who knew how long it would be until he found something else. He had no idea where he was going to either. He couldn't make it back to camp on foot like this, that was for sure. And if he ran into any Croats, in his state, he'd never outrun them. And he was, at best, only carrying a handgun with one cartridge, and at the least, an empty gun._

_He ran anyway. Better to die at the hands of the desert, than a capricious megalomaniac anyway. Either way he dies, but at least it'd be on his own terms. His legs protested against him, fighting for every foot, every inch of distance Dean managed to put between himself and the fighting. He wasn’t sure how long he managed to run for, and he also didn’t know how long he lay prone in the sand._

_He awoke some time after sun down, with a red-haired woman leering at him. Wherever the hell she got red-lipstick in this wasteland, he’d never know. Dean tried his limbs, knowing full well he’d find himself bound up. To his surprise, he found that even though his arms were pinned behind his back, his legs were looser than normal, and he wasn’t tied down to anything in particular. A quick glance around told him that he wasn't far off from where the old Roamer camp had lain, he wasn't even trapped in a tent. If he could distract this woman-_

_“Don’t even try it,” the woman smiled, and her sick glee seemed genuine as she pointed the gun at his face._

_“What do you want with me,” Dean sighed, eyeing the gun._

_“Are you bored?” she squatted and waved the gun in front of his face._

_“Listen lady, this is my second kidnapping in as many months, just tell me what you want. You haven’t put a bullet in me yet, and unless you like playing with your food, I don’t think you plan on it."_

_Dean watched as the woman's expression shifted from affronted, to that sinister joy once more._

_"Direct, I so enjoy that," she extended her hand, and with his wrists bound Dean realized he was meant to kiss it._

_"Abaddon," she smirked when Dean pecked her hand, "That jester calling himself a king is dead."_

_"He wasn't my king," Dean couldn't find an ounce of pity for his former captor, "I guess the Stockholm syndrome hadn't kicked in yet. Now tell me what it is you want with me."_

_"Very well," Abaddon stood up, not before gripping Dean's underarm, hauling him up with her._

_"Strong, and most importantly, well-fed individuals, are hard to come by these days. My people are constantly being weeded out."_

_She carefully turned Dean's body around, and she even giggled in his ear when he gasped. If Dean were forced to estimate how many people had been in Crowley's gang, he would have said thirty. There were at least twice as many bodies on the ground from what Dean could make out in the dark, varying in degree of mutilation. The nearest corpse was missing a head._

_"The weak get killed off. I need to constantly replenish my numbers. It's simple survival of the fittest," she pressed her fingers harder into Dean's neck, forcing him to keep his head up._

_"And why the fuck do you think I would stick with you," Dean growled out._

_"Well, I found you passed out in the desert, so it's not like you have anywhere else to go," Abaddon removed her support from his body, and Dean nearly fell to the ground._

_"And if you decline my offer, I’ll shoot you."_

_Dean mulled it over. She had a point, and sooner or later, if he played his cards right, he could escape back to camp, without leading her right home._

_"If you're thinking of escaping to whatever hovel Crowley plucked you from, I've got some unpleasant news for you," Abaddon interrupted his thoughts._

_She was on him again in a second, gripping his face tightly. She jerked his head toward the night, thankfully away from the carnage. A single bright spot sat in the midnight ocean._

_"See that?" Abaddon forced Dean to nod, "Was one of your cutesy little survivor camps. Anyone who couldn't hold their own against my people are up in smoke now. And any of mine that couldn't hack it are gone too. The fittest."_

_Dean shut his eyes, praying she didn't notice. He couldn't watch any more._

_"And I did that to every little camp from here to the city. Now tell me Dean, was your little camp on that route?"_

_She let go of him once more, and Dean fell to his knees again. All of his energy was devoted to not sobbing. They couldn't all be gone. His mind drifted to Andrea, stubbornly dragging Benny and his broken leg from their burning home, despite the swell of her belly. He saw Charlie and Kevin evacuating the elderly and sick. Sam and Claire, battling on the front lines. Cas-_

"Dean, look at me," Cas had his face caught between his hands, "She was wrong or she was lying. Everyone is fine, I'm fine."

Dean nodded, without making eye contact. He got up quickly, and before Cas could follow him, he returned, this time with a bottle of clear liquid.

"I'll need this to continue."

Cas eyed the bottle wearily, but kept his mouth shut.

"So I joined Abaddon's gang. I didn't think I had any options left, anyway," Dean took a pull from the bottle.

"We mostly fought Croats, there weren't any camps to raid that far into the desert. Some nights I woke with knives to my throat, that's how anyone moved up in rank in that camp. Murder the guy you think is your biggest threat."

Dean watched Cas's eyes widen, so he quickly added, "I-uh, never killed any of them. But pretty much any injury out there was a death sentence anyway. So I guess I have that on my head."

He saw Cas's lips flutter, but the man stayed quiet.

"I managed to stay back every time we came upon a camp. Going hungry for the night was worth my soul, I think."

Dean drummed on the table, failing to make the gesture casual.

"Anyway, after about three years, we found ourselves somewhere in the Deep South. That was when we met Cain."

Dean took another large gulp of his drink.

T _he carnage was unimaginable. Cain's people had weapons, guns like Dean hadn't seen since the outbreak. Better numbers, probably because they had a leader who actively pitted them against one another. Abaddon was brave, he gave her that. When they arrived in that city, staring his numbers down on that wide main street, she knew exactly who she was up against._

_"My old dance partner," she spoke quietly to Dean, moments before she signaled the attack. Abaddon charged forward, and Dean ran back. Cain would be his salvation. It was only a matter of utilizing him._

_An old medical supply store lay on the side street, just far enough away from the action. Dean figured if he waited long enough, Abaddon's people would be dead, Cain would have moved on, and he could salvage enough from the city to make his life. Alone._

_He crept through the lobby of the building, looking for the optimal spot, when he spotted something odd. A jeep, gassed and humming, right there in the lobby. He stepped closer to inspect it, when he felt the cold barrel of a gun behind his head._

_"Don't move, boy," a gruff voice muttered._

_Dean sighed, he was getting sloppy. He put his hands behind his head, interlacing his fingers._

_The figure circled around him, and when Dean got a good look at the face, he felt like he took suckerpunch to the gut._

_"Uncle Bobby?"_

_"How the hell do you know my name, boy?" The man appeared unfazed, but he recocked his pistol for emphasis._

_"It's Dean, John's kid."_

_The old man's eyes bugged out from his head. He shoved the pistol into his belt, and quickly wrapped Dean in a firm hug._

_"I thought you were dead, Son."_

Dean coughed into his hand, meeting Castiel's gaze once more.

"And so he introduced me to Ellen, who had been hiding behind the desk, ready to put a bullet in me. Turns out they were in the middle of a raid on another one of Roman's facilities when the battle broke loose outside. We hunkered down together, until the last screams died out, around dawn. Bobby took us the round about way in the jeep, trying to avoid as much of the battlefield as possible. He took me to the RV, and we've been together since.

Dean took one last big swig.

"I couldn't help but look, you know. I swear I saw a red-headed corpse, but then again, I still see her, sometimes when I'm asleep, coming after me for running."

"You did the right thing, you know that, don't you Dean?" Cas spoke quietly, "Those people that died, they tried to, and would have, killed you."

"Well, that doesn't make it feel right," Dean set the bottle down, half empty, “I’m going to bed. You’ll find your room at the end of the hall.”

Dean got up, suddenly dizzy. He hadn’t told the whole story to anyone since Bobby that first time, and he felt bone tired. He was too tired to change for bed, just kicking off his boots and jeans before slipping under the sheets. Too tired to feign anger and shock when Cas slipped into bed next to him.


	17. Chapter 17

Some hours later, Dean started awake, surprised to find Cas pressed up against the crook of his neck, mouthing aimlessly. 

“What about Amelia?” Dean asked, though his eyes were fixed on Cas’s mouth.

“I lied. And I don’t feel like dying a virgin tomorrow.”

That was enough for Dean. 

He hauled the man up into his lap, chuckling when he let out an undignified shriek. Dean started with what could have been a chaste kiss in another lifetime. The sweetness of the moment was ruined by Cas’s desperate writhing. There wasn’t any time for sweet. He surged up, meeting Cas’s chapped lips with a ferocity he couldn’t bother to lock away. Cas tried to match his energy, easily parting his lips as Dean’s tongue begged access. 

They had both fallen asleep in their clothes, and Cas wriggled in Dean’s lap to draw attention to the injustice. Dean broke the kiss then, mouthing at Cas’s neck, before working his way down to Cas’s jeans. Cas cants his hips upwards to give Dean’s quick fingers better access, hesitant to part for even the necessary seconds to actually undress.

“Want you so bad,” Cas whined. 

“Fuck,” Dean sighed into Cas’s neck, biting just below his jaw. 

When Cas’s rutting became more insistent, his need pressed up against Dean’s thigh, Dean pulled Cas’ shirt up over his head and began kissing down his chest. He wriggled out from underneath Cas, and carefully pushed him down onto his back, and tried not to smirk when Cas sighed from the temporary lapse of contact. Dean resumed his mission with gusto, liberating Cas of his jeans, before pressing a small kiss to the man’s ankle. 

“I’m gonna take care of you, but the walls have ears. We’re going to have to keep it down,” Dean said, Cas nodding vigorously in reply. 

Dean took his time, massaging Cas’s tight calves, before pressing a small kiss to the inner corner of his knee, before making his way to Cas’ inner thigh. Dean then skipped up to lick at Cas’s nipple, forcing the man to stifle a gasp, before working his way back down again. 

“Considering we lack some essential supplies at the moment,” Dean paused his journey just above Cas’s pelvic bone, “we’ll have to skip the main event for now.”

“Deannn-”

“You can’t outrun Croats with a sore ass,” Dean cut him off, and chuckled at the honest to god pout Cas was sporting. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Dean whispered into Cas’s stomach, causing the man to giggle. 

“Shh, baby,” Dean warned, letting the back of his hand gently trace his erection. 

Cas let out a muffled whimper, and Dean looked up to see Cas gagging himself with his own t-shirt. Dean smirked, and paused his work on Cas’ pants to peel off his own shirt, and watched the man’s eyes grow wide. 

“That worked up already baby?” Dean noticed how Cas squirmed every time the word rolled off his tongue. 

He made quick work of his jeans, and saw Cas’s cock straining to free itself from his boxers. Dean licked his lips as he saw the reddened head peeking out from the top of the waistband. Dean leaned down and gave a little kiss to the head before mouthing at the rest of his cock through the fabric. Cas gripped the top of Dean’s head, little gasps and whimpers making their way around the gag. 

“So you waited for me, huh Cas?” Dean teased the tip, blowing lightly and watched Cas’s stomach spasm. 

“Hmm, so sensitive,” Dean gave the purpling head tiny kitten licks.

“No one else catch your eye, hmm?” Dean asked, before finally peeling back Cas’s ruined underwear.

Cas pushed the gag aside. 

“No one else, Dean, no one ever,” he ground out, his eyes screwing up. 

“So I have you all to myself? Say it Cas,” Dean held down Cas’s hips, as he vainly tried to push himself deeper into Dean’s mouth. 

Cas groaned, “I’m yours, Dean, only yours.”

“Good,” Dean replied, before taking Cas down to the root. 

Dean watched as Cas arched up, shoving his fist in his mouth in a pathetic attempt to conceal his moans. It only took Dean one, two, three bobs before Cas was spending himself down his throat. 

Dean kept going, until Cas was spent, whimpering from oversensitivity. 

Dean leaned back, taking in Cas’s flushed face and chest, his eyes shut with exhaustion before palming himself over his underwear. He was ready to come in his hand and call it a day when Cas opened his eyes. 

“Dean,” Cas mumbled, before pointing at his chest. 

“What is it, baby,” Dean asked, now pulling lazily on his cock. 

“I need to touch you,” Cas demanded in a hoarse whisper. 

“Shit, yeah Cas.”

Dean watched as Cas, already limp from orgasm, slowly wrapped his hand around Dean, massaging torturously slow. Dean felt his eyes drift shut, and he bit his lip to stay quiet.

“Look at me, Dean,” Cas commanded, and Dean felt his eyes snap open. 

“I’m yours, and you’re mine,” Cas growled, and Dean shivered at the timbre in his voice. 

“Cas, shit,” Dean bit out, groaning as Cas increased speed. 

“Say it.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours, I’m-” and Dean was coming, all over Cas’ chest. 

Dean felt his shoulders sag, before reaching for his discarded shirt and wiping Cas down carefully, tracing his trail with feather-light kisses. When he reached Cas’s jaw, he pulled the man tightly against him, kissing lightly around his face until he landed on his lips. 

He couldn’t tell the man below him that he loved him. It was achingly true- every drop of blood in his forsaken body called out for Cas. 

If they lived past tomorrow, Dean would tell Cas he loved him every goddamn day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're nearing the end folks !


	18. Chapter 18

Cas let Dean pull him in, drawing him tightly against his chest. Cas let a small part of himself hope they would talk about what they just did, but Dean just sighed, and soon his breath evened out. 

Cas leaned up carefully. He stared down, propping himself up on his elbow, and he tried to gauge if Dean was really asleep, or just faking. 

Cas lowered himself down again as softly as he could manage. He felt a sudden pang in his chest. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much- that he couldn’t tell if Dean was faking or not. 

Deep down, he knew he shouldn’t feel like this. He knew it was crazy to follow a man he barely knew. Everything he knew about Dean’s past was whatever he had managed to eke out of Sam in their rare moments alone. He was abandoning the last little scrap of family he had to go on a suicide mission that was hanging on by a short, worn thread. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn about the consequences. He belonged here, by Dean’s side. 

Yet he couldn’t tell if he was faking or not. 

They set out before dawn, straight north, to the headquarters of an old subsidiary of Roman Enterprises, Sucrocorp in the middle of Oklahoma. 

“No matter what happens, whoever is left, we regroup at camp,” Dean said, before they loaded up into cars.

Ellen, Jo, Ash, and Bobby in an empty 18 wheeler, and Cas and Dean holding up the rear in a jeep. If all went according to plan, that jeep would be filled with whatever fucked up toxins Dick Roman used to engineer the Croatoan virus. That combined with what Ash had whipped up in the bunker might just provide some immunity. They just had to get the shit from the source. 

“We’ve been hitting factory after factory across the US, this is the last possible place,” Dean said as they pulled off the freeway. The Sucrocorp headquarters lay in the middle of 50 acres of deserted cornfield. The sickly sweet smell of rotted corn hit Cas’s nose, momentarily eclipsing the general smell of decay that permeated the earth. 

There were two main buildings, a shiny high rise that was out of place, and a long dormant factory. Dean followed the truck as it veered through a gap in the fencing of the factory. To Cas’s surprise, he hadn’t seen a Croat for the past few dozen miles. Part of him wondered if the crisis would just die down on its own. They knew Croats only lasted a few months, and after that they just sort of, melted away. If they were smart, and lucky, maybe they could keep the living safe for long enough that the Croats would no longer be a threat. 

Dean pulled up next to a surprisingly solid door at the side of the factory. Cas hopped out, hefting his weapon. They didn’t actually have a blueprint of the factory, but if it was similar to the one where Ellen had worked, the layout indicated that if there was a cache of the liquid poison, it would be in the processing hub, where they used to refine the corn syrup. According to Ellen, that’s how Roman first distributed the virus, in a tainted batch of corn syrup, that got processed into soda, cereal, frozen yogurt, canned fruit, bread. 

In sequence, Dean and Cas shot at the hinges, and the huge door caved in with a great whoosh. 

Cas didn’t know what he expected on the other side of the door. An army of Croats, or perhaps Richard Roman himself sitting atop a crown of skulls. What he saw were neat rows of barrels, complete with the toxic symbol. Easy. Stupid. And then an earsplitting alarm pierced the air. Looking to his left and right, he saw Croats begin to shuffle out from the rotting corn fields, beelining towards the noise. 

He and Dean made quick eye contact before rushing into the factory, and rolling out the first barrels they could see backwards to Ellen and Bobby, who pushed them toward the ramp, where Ash was loading them up. They managed to load forty barrels when the first Croats reached them. 

Jo did her best as a sniper perched on top of the truck, but soon they were overwhelming the factory doors, and she was forced to hop into the cab of the truck to reload. While Ellen and Bobby took out the Croats coming towards the truck, Ash frantically locked up the back before shooting his way back up to the cab. 

Cas ventured forward to join them but Dean held his shoulder back, just as dozens of Croats overwhelmed the factory doors. They were moving slowly, but there was no way to mow through them without accidentally shooting Bobby or Ellen on the other side of their decaying bodies. Dean sprinted back inside the factory, making his way up to a catwalk. Cas followed, well aware that they could be trapping themselves inside. Cas kept turning to shoot the croats that were slowly climbing the steps behind them, but it felt like a waste of ammo. They just kept coming, and coming. It was faster to outrun them, and Cas sprinted up, ignoring the burn of his lungs and the jolt of his hip. 

They found themselves in the middle of a small bridge that spanned the factory floor. The bridge led to a control panel and a brick wall. Dead end. Over the shuffle of the Croats, Cas could hear the truck start up outside. 

“Good,” Cas thought, “my death won’t be for nothing.”

Dean turned around when he reached the wall, looking wildly at the approaching Croats. 

“Cas, I-”

“I love you too, Dean.”

Dean drew Cas in close, but before he could kiss him, Cas spotted a hook fixed to a cable, about five feet away from the edge of the bridge. 

“Dean, look.”

Dean’s eyes lit up, and he experimentally stepped up on the railing, and made a two-hand grab for the hook, Cas’s hands wrapped around his chest. Just before the Croats could make a grab for them, Dean jumped, and Cas held his breath. His stomach flopped, and he held his breath as he ziplined across the room, reveling in feeling weightless. Dean let out a confident whoop, and Cas felt himself let go for a moment. They landed heavily at the other end of the factory. Croats shuffled between the toxic vats, like a deranged maze. Cas looked around desperately, until he saw a small emergency door being blocked by only two Croats. He and Dean shot in unison, the enemies' heads exploding at once. Cas took charge first, and forced his way outside into the sunlit field, on the wrong side of the building from the jeep. Shit. 

Dean followed him out, cursing at the Croats who were beginning to circle.

“Do you think we can make it back around?” Dean asked, and Cas tried to ignore the fear in his voice.  
“No, but we can make it to that!” Cas said, pointing at a small bi-plane perched on a platform near the corporate side of the building.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Dean growled, but soon began charging forward, mowing down the Croats between them and the plane. 

Miracle on miracle, they reached the base of the platform right before Cas ran out of ammo. He used his gun to beat off one particularly aggressive Croat, before climbing up the scaffolding. They reached the top, and to Cas’ surprise, Dean hopped in the passenger seat in the back of the plane.

“You’re gonna have to take the reins here, I’m not great with heights,” Dean said, before shooting a particularly close Croat. 

Cas nodded, and hopped in the front seat and looked at the thankfully simple-looking controls. 

“Please have fuel, please have fuel, please have fuel,” Cas prayed to whatever deity had left them on the earth to suffer. 

Their negligent God must have smiled upon Cas that day, because the ignition turned over, and Cas got the plane to start rolling forward down the incline. Just as they reached the end, Cas heard the engine ramp up, and soon they were airborne. 

Cas let out a triumphant cry, but saw Dean clutching on for dear life behind him and quieted. Cas angled the plane to swoop over the factory, and began following the highway until they spied the truck, barreling down. 

Cas didn’t dare fly low enough to try and communicate, but three long blasts from the truck told him that his friends knew they made it out alive. Somehow, Cas managed to land them in another corn field without killing them both. And Cas refrained from making fun of Dean vomiting over the side of the plane when they got out. The two sprinted to the truck, forced to squish in the back of the cab for the rest of the ride home, and though the journey became much more comfortable after Dean pulled him into his lap. And if Dean pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, well, no one said anything. 

Three weeks later

“But how will we know it works?” Claire said, peering closely at Ash’s solution. 

“Well we know it won’t kill us,” Ash said, “Tested it out on myself.”

“We’re going to need a trial, aren’t we,” Sam said, brow furrowed. 

“Already done,” Dean grunted.

Cas winced at the memory. After Ash confirmed the new mixture wasn’t deadly, they all vaccinated themselves, without any idea of its efficacy. So they kidnapped a Croat and locked it in one of the bunker rooms to bite them. 

Dean had volunteered. Of course he had, and Cas volunteered himself in retaliation, and before they could finish arguing, Jo had run into the room. There was a scuffle and a shot and then the woman came out sporting a big bite on her arm. Ellen cried as she locked Jo back in the room with jugs of water and piles of food, fit for a last meal. And Cas hated the relief he felt that it wasn’t Dean in there. 

They waited a week, longer than any Croat transformation. And when Jo tumbled out of the room, still healthy flesh and blood, they were too relieved to celebrate. Ash got to work manufacturing more doses, while Cas and Dean came up with a distribution plan. They’d head to the Winchester camp first, of course, vaccinate everyone. And from there, they’d send emissaries to survivor camps. Cas only knew of a few, but they would surely know of more. 

“Dean, I can’t believe it. You did it,” Sam looked near tears. 

Cas and Dean watched from the roof of their cabin as the citizens of the camp lined up for the vaccine in the center pit. There was an electric atmosphere bubbling over, and Cas felt his chest drum with excitement. The past few weeks with Dean hadn’t felt real. His dream, their dream, was finally coming true. 

“What’s next?” Cas asked.

Dean didn’t let the question linger, sliding his hands around Cas’s face, and drawing him in for a lingering kiss.

“Whatever we want,” Dean said confidently.

With the sunset bathing them in its warm glow, Cas believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it ! I might post some time stamps in the future. 
> 
> [ Follow me on tumblr : ) ](%E2%80%9Dwriterposer.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even after saving the world together, Cas can't get his boyfriend Dean to touch him. That is, until he figures out another use for olive oil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time stamp #1 ! This takes place a week after the main story.

It started with an olive tree. Andrea had discovered a tree growing in some abandoned backyard, and convinced Benny to transplant it by the river. It was a good project, and Castiel aided in planting more. It was one of the few things he could do after Dean was taken-- if he was planting he didn’t have to talk to anybody about what happened. He could just let the heat beat his back, and try to bring life into the barren world.

By the time Dean crashed back into camp, back into his life, the trees were slowly maturing within their fledgling orchard. All but one were producing olives, and Andrewa convinced them to process them the old fashioned way. They made mill stones out of old tires dipped in concrete, and ground the olives into a fine paste, before using hemp mats to press the fruit pulp slowly, squeezing the oil out into buckets. Water naturally separated off from the top, and they were left with fresh olive oil.

Cas carefully placed the small jar of olive oil next to the bed. He felt guilty swiping it from the kitchen. Their community was doing well-- since the vaccine had made its way through the camp and appeared to work. Soon they would be sending out envoys to other camps, and with luck, soon they would have something of a robust trade.. Still, resources would always be tight, and to steal from the group for his own selfish purpose felt wrong. But Cas had his reasons. Dean was finally going to make good on his promise to fuck him.

Even though they shared a cabin now, and Dean came back to him every night, there was still so much distance between them. They had shared that one night, hurried and awkward, under the threat of imminent death. Now, with the existential Croat threat gone, at least for now, it seems like Dean only saw him as a kid again. He held him so delicately, like he was made of paper instead of flesh. He pulled back when Cas tried to deepen their kisses, which were few and far between. Dean was busy, refamiliarizing himself with camp, and checking on Sam and Jess, who was starting to show. And he had to revive the wood shop, that was important, no one was as good a carpenter as Dean, and someone had to teach people the right way to make a Rabbet Joint. And he helped Benny in the kitchen, producing food for a hundred people took a lot out of someone. And it made him distracted. And Cas understood. But it’d been a week and the most action Cas had gotten out of Dean was feeling his morning wood poking him in the back. But whenever Cas ground back, trying to entice Dean into more than chaste kisses and cuddling, Dean froze, and made some excuse, and ended up in the bathroom. Leaving Castiel alone, again.

Most nights, Dean came rushing into the cabin. He’d excitedly tell Cas about all the developments, as if Cas hadn’t been right there when they happened. And they’d stay up for hours, talking in the dark about every plan they had for the future, now that there was a future. But then Dean would drop off to sleep, murmuring about refurbishing the cabins with solar power and Cas would lie awake. This night would be different.

The camp still didn’t have much in the way of grooming, but Cas took an extra long time in the river after dinner, ignoring the cold bite of the water against his thighs to clean himself thoroughly. Now Cas sat gingerly on the bed, trying to figure out how to arrange himself. He was chilly, but if Dean came in and he was under the covers already, he’d think he was getting ready for bed. Should he get naked? What if Dean brought Sam over? Or Claire came to swing by. No he shouldn’t get naked, or maybe he should take his shirt off? Yes, that makes sense, he’d take his shirt off, and if Dean brought anyone with him Cas could just say he was in the middle of changing, to save embarrassment. Yes. This would work. As Cas was taking off his shirt, hands above his head, Dean came in.

“Dean!” Cas said, his voice coming out in a yelp.

“Hey buddy,” Dean said with a laugh, easing Cas’s shirt back down.

Cas tried not to pout. He didn’t want to be Dean’s buddy. But he doubted Dean was the type to get turned on by pouting, and so it wouldn’t serve his mission to start now. Unless Dean was turned on by pouting? Cas gave it a try.

“I actually was trying to take my shirt off,” Cas said in a low voice.  
“Oh,” Dean said, and took a fucking step back to let Cas do just that, as if Cas undressing was a process utterly outside of his domain. Cas switched tactics.

“Do you think you could help me?” Cas asked.

Dean shook himself and stepped forward again, gingerly peeling Cas’s shirt off, and Cas saw his eyes skim across Cas’s chest before dragging themselves up to his eyes.

Cas waited for Dean to do something. He’d been fantasizing about this moment for so long, yet Dean seemed as lost as he felt. Fantasy Dean always picked Cas up and manhandled him onto the bed. He’d push his face into the mattress and take what he wanted until Cass thighs ached, until his throat was sore, until he was crying for more. Fantasy Dean wanted. The Dean in front of him was holding himself so rigidly Cas was afraid he’d burst a blood vessel.

Cas sighed and dropped onto the mattress, and Dean stayed standing, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Am I unattractive? If I am you should tell me now.”

Dean’s eyes snapped back down.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Dean said, and knelt before Cas.

Dean ran his hands up and down Cas’s arms, tracing the goosebump trail on his forearms, but he still couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Cas, I. I knew you as a kid. I just,” Dean brushed his hand on his face.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Cas said.

“I know I know, but-”

“Dean. Look at me,” Cas grasped Dean’s chin in his hand, forcing the man to look up at him.

Cas felt Dean’s jaw flex in his palm, but he didn’t fight Cas’s grip. Even in the dark, Cas could see the heat in Dean’s eyes. And if Cas wanted it, he’d have to take the lead here.

“Dean, I’m not the scared teenager you once knew. I’m a man, and I would really, really enjoy it if you fucked me,” Cas said slowly.

Dean swallowed, but he was still tense, holding back what Cas knew was coiled under the surface.

“Is it the virgin thing? I can go find Amelia and rectify that situation,” Cas offered.

That did it. Dean fucking growled, pushing Cas back onto the mattress, capturing his mouth, while his fingers worked to undo Cas’s jeans. Cas hadn’t even had time to take his shoes off, so his jeans awkwardly pooled by his ankles as Dean mouthed over the outline of his cock hardening in his briefs.

“It’s not that I don’t want you Cas,” Dean said in between laying bites on Cas’s thighs.

“I want you too much. I want everything, it fucking scares me. What I want to do to you. To do for you.”

Dean’s voice shook as he peeled back Cas’s underwear, and Cas hissed as the sensitive tip hit the cold air. Dean quickly took the head into his mouth, and Cas groaned at the heat. Dean suckled at the head, lightly stroking the shaft with his free hand, the other forearm resting heavily against Cas’s bare stomach. Cas felt himself squirming, overwhelmed by the attention, but Dean held him down.

“Dean, don’t, shit,” Cas gasped.

Dean popped off, “Is this too much?”

“Stop teasing me or I’m going to come before you can get inside of me,” Cas gasped.

Dean grinned, and gave one last suck before backing away to strip. Cas watched hungrily as Dean peeled away his layers. Cas tried to look sexy too, but he was too eager kicking off his boots, and his jeans awkwardly flopped down his legs. Dean didn’t seem to mind as he stalked back to the bed, lowering himself onto Cas.

“Cas, how’re we gonna do this?” Dean asked, his breath hot on Cas’s ear.

“I, got, um, well,” Cas pointed at the little jar of olive oil on the bedside table.

Dean leaned over and picked up the jar, realization dawning as he slowly unscrewed the top.

“Clever,” Dean breathed, slowly slicking his fingers.

“Get back here,” Cas grabbed for Dean’s head, bringing their lips together.

Cas yelped when he felt a cold finger begin exploring.

“Sorry, it’ll warm soon,” Dean said, kissing under Cas’s jaw.

Dean worked one finger in slowly, and Cas breathed through the discomfort, trying to get lost in the feel of Dean’s mouth on his chest. Dean worked in a second finger and Cas hissed through his teeth.

“God you’re like a vice,” Dean whispered, “I can’t wait Cas, I can’t wait.”

Dean worked a third strong finger in slowly, searching. Cas whined as he felt Dean’s fingers working against his walls.

“Fuck, Dean, hurry,” Cas gasped.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” Dean whispered, “Next round I’ll take my time, take you apart slowly.”

Dean found the spot that made Cas’s toes curl, and Cas wondered if Dean could make him cum just from this. If Cas tried hard enough Dean’s voice alone could probably send him over the edge. God knows that’s all Cas had for years was just the memory of Dean’s voice to get him through.

Cas felt the thick head poke at him, waiting.

“Dean, fucking, come on,” Cas whined, too worked up for coherency.

Cas sighed as Dean pushed himself in, and when he clenched experimentally, Dean groaned and hunched over.

“Next time we’re stealing candles, need to see you,” Dean said, running his hands over Cas’s hips, carefully avoiding his straining cock.

“Maybe next time I could fuck you,” Cas murmered.

“Fuck Cas, you can do whatever you want to me.”

Dean’s thrust started shallow, but soon his thrusts grew harder, striking Cas’s very core. He felt heat rise up in his abdomen.

“Dean, I’m not, I can’t, I’m gonna-” Cas gasped as he came ropes across his stomach.

“I’m right there with you buddy, I’m-” Cas felt Dean fill him, warmth seeping across his body.

Dean carefully pulled out and flopped beside Cas. Cas closed his eyes.

“Never call me buddy while you’re inside of me,” Cas sighed.  
Dean laughed and kissed him. Soon they’d figure out that the olive oil was best used if they mixed it with aloe vera, which luckily grew in abundance by the camp’s walls. Dean could often be spotted volunteering to gather it for the medical tent, even late at night. One afternoon Cas discovered they can also get oil from boiling old avocados that were past ripe, and they spent a weekend in bed trying to discern if there were any differences (Olive slicked better, but Avocado lasted longer). But for now, they ignored the mess, and Dean drew Cas in close against his chest.

“Yes baby,” Dean said in his ear.

It started with an olive tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr ! @writerposer


End file.
